


Keep Right On To The End of The Road

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: The Captain America Adventure Hour [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, POV Multiple, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><p>
  <i>As they ran down the hall, Steve said, "You picked up a girl. As a POW."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"What's that thing your mom used to say? God looks after drunks and good Irish boys."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Unbelievable," he muttered.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bye Bye Blackbird

**Author's Note:**

> So, we watched Agent Carter and we really wanted to write for Peggy but we didn't like any of her romantic options in the show so we decided to rewrite the end of Captain America. With bonus girl for Bucky! (Fans of my _Scars_ story will be pleased.)
> 
> Written in a flurry of inspiration over the course of about a week, right before Olives went on maternity leave. Complete and will post 1-2 times a week as I edit.
> 
> Will try to get one more chapter up this weekend, then figure out a regular posting schedule this week.
> 
> Work title and all chapter titles come from song titles popular during WWII.

_Swiss Alps_   
_January, 1945_

"Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"

Since they were little kids, Bucky had always been very good at using Steve's stubborn dislike of looking weak to goad him into doing things. "Yeah, and I threw up?" Among many other things, the serum had blessedly erased the motion sickness that had plagued him all his life. Which is why zip-lining onto a train was now something it was feasible for him to do.

"This isn't payback, is it?" Bucky asked.

That made Steve smile. Considering how they'd been sitting, most of said vomit had actually ended up on Bucky and not Steve, he'd already been paid back plenty. "Now why would I do that?"

Jones finally got something useful on the radio, and they both turned around. Time to capture one lunatic Nazi scientist. They hooked their equipment up to the line—Steve had volunteered to go first. It amused him that in two years he'd picked up enough French to understand a good chunk of the brief conversation Jones and Dernier were having about timing, yet in that same span Dernier had refused to pick up enough English to even say 'now' when launching them off.

Of course, Steve admired a certain amount of obstinate stubbornness.

The landing was about as clean as one could hope for landing on a moving train in the wind and snow. He heard the reassuring thump of Bucky and then Jones landing behind him and started forward, hunched into the wind.

Swinging from the ladder into the train car was a little stomach plummeting, but pretty soon he and Bucky were in what seemed to be a storage container, weapons at the ready. The fight came out of nowhere, like they always did, even if it was a fight you started. Adrenaline kicks in and you're all sharp focus and muscle memory. Someone has to die, you or the other guy. That's the only way it ever ends.

Bucky got locked in the car behind him, and was out of ammo by the time Steve got the door open. He tossed him a gun, shoved a container at the Hydra soldier so he'd duck like Steve wanted, and Bucky clipped him right in the head. 

Nothing quite like working with someone where you knew how each other thought well enough you didn't have to have a discussion, in any language.

"I had him on the ropes," Bucky said.

Only Bucky would make jokes in the middle of a firefight. "I know you did," Steve replied, because that _was_ the reply. He could remember being six years old, sitting on the counter in the kitchen in the apartment of this boy he'd never met before that had fought off the gigantic second-grader who'd been beating Steve up. Mrs. Barnes cleaned off Steve's face and gave him an oatmeal cookie. He'd insisted to his new friend that he'd had the bully on the ropes. In defiance of all logic, Bucky had agreed. Even little boys knew a thing or two about dignity.

He heard the whir of machinery behind him and was moving before he'd really registered the guy in the metal suit was back. He shoved Bucky behind him and put the shield up, taking the full blast of both guns. The force of the hit sent him flying into the wall and he lost hold of the shield.

Dazed, he registered the next few seconds with an odd detachment. It was cold, he could smell the snow and hear the wind. Part of the train car wall was gone. Steve watched Bucky scramble to his feet, scooping up the shield as he did so. He fired with his right, holding the shield in his left and Steve made a mental note to train him in using both at once. This probably wasn't the last time he'd have to pick it up if Steve was down.

Then the guy in metal fired, and the force of it sent Buck flying out the hole in the wall. Steve tossed his shield at the shooter, knocking him back, which was plenty for the moment. Then he yanked off his helmet so he could see better to climb outside where Bucky was hanging off the side of the train by one rickety railing.

He managed to find a foot hold, but only just. He'd have gone out with none, of course, but it made him feel a bit better about his odds. Climbing to the end of the hand rail, he stretched out to his friend. "Grab my hand!" He wasn't even sure if Bucky could hear him, with the howl of the wind.

He must have heard him, because he reached—but it didn't matter. It took a second and it took hours. The bolts popping one by one, the sick sound of metal bending and giving way.

Bucky screamed the whole way down, until Steve couldn't hear anything anymore.

If this were a comic book, one he was the hero of, he would feel rage that would fuel him to leap up and single-handedly smash his way through the rest of the bad guys. But that wasn't how it went. Instead he closed his eyes, put his forehead on the cold metal, and cried into the side of the train. All he felt was grief. It was dangerous, and he could fall at any minute. He didn't particularly care. Maybe he'd fall. Maybe he'd let go. It would hurt less.

Later, he'd be grateful the Jones continued the mission. He got to the front of the train, got Zola, got the engineer to stop the train in a place they could get off with their prisoner. Steve let go and only fell two feet into the snow. He looked up to see the engineer jumping down with his hands tied. Zola appeared in the doorway, followed by a boot to the back as Jones literally kicked him off the train with some force. He fell face down in the snow and Jones leapt out behind him. 

Steve could tell by Jones's face he'd seen what happened from his spot on the top of the train. They locked eyes for a moment, and then Jones said, "You wanna come shoot him, I'll take that to my grave."

For a moment, that comic book rage roared up inside him. It would be simple. No one was likely to ask questions and if they did Jones had his back. This guy was the reason Bucky was dead. Had been the one who experimented on him in that warehouse. He deserved to die. A bullet to the head was too good for him.

But then it faded. He was Captain fucking America. He didn't execute people. He wanted justice, not vengeance. Bucky had liked that about him.

"He's more use alive," he said, sounding tired to his own ears. "But no need to treat him gentle."

"Already there," Jones replied. Zola was still face down in the snow, flopping around like a fish in an attempt to turn over. So he didn't suffocate, Jones kicked him onto his side, and Steve didn't miss the cracking sound that was at least one rib.

Feeling some sense of numb duty take over, Steve untied the engineer. "Take the train wherever you were going. Tell Schmidt we've got his lackey."

The man looked rather dumbfounded, but nodded frantically and scrambled back into the train. A few minutes later it was crawling down the track again.

The other commandos would be here soon for extraction. Steve kind of wanted to just sit in the snow let hypothermia take him, but he doubted they'd let him. Hell, with this stupid serum in his veins it probably wouldn't even kill him.

"It'll get worse before it gets better," Jones said after a stretch of silence. "But it gets better eventually. If you don't let the anger eat you alive." 

Steve looked up in surprise. Of course, all of them had lost buddies in war. It happened to everyone he knew. But this was different. This was. . .

Clearly, Jones had read his face. "No," he said. "They lynched my brother when I was sixteen. I had to watch."

Steve blew the air out of his lungs. "I'm sorry."

Jones nodded sharply and glanced down at Zola. "I'd've shot him."

It was the last thing either of them said until the jeep holding the rest of the commandos rolled up. They took in Zola, Jones, and the look on Steve's face and their faces changed from triumph to grief. Not even Dum-Dum asked where Bucky was.

*

The ravine had been several hundred feet deep. 

The distance from the Brooklyn Bridge deck to the water was 135 feet. People jumped that and sometimes survived. Morita liked to tell them about the bridge they'd put up in San Francisco ten years ago. It was something like 250 feet from the water, and had already become a magnet for jumpers, because that height was fatal. From that height, water was no different than concrete when you hit it.

This had been more than 250 feet. And he hadn't even hit the river. Was there research into how far one could fall into a deep snowbank? Maybe it worked like the nets acrobats worked over.

It had to be something. Because Bucky could not deny the fact that he had fallen several hundred feet, and yet seemed to still be alive. Every bone in his body may or may not have been broken, of course, but that wasn't dead. It was hard to tell though, since he was mostly numb when he woke up. Broken neck? Frostbite and hypothermia? He spent some time mulling that. What the hell else was he going to do?

He was starting to feel the prick of pins and needles in his limbs when he heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow. For a few unrealistically hopeful moments he thought it was the commandos come to look for him. It would be just like Steve to do that. To make sure.

But as they got closer, he heard voices and they weren't speaking English, or even French. It was most definitely German. The ugly little octopuses on their arms when they bent to inspect him just confirmed it. All he could really do was glare at them, assuming his facial muscles were working. He did seem to be able to move his head a bit. When they began dragging him, he noticed most of his left arm was gone. How in hell had _that_ happened?

The pain kicked in as they loaded him into their vehicle and he mercifully passed out for a little while. When he woke again he was inside, on a table or cot or something, and a bunch of men in white coats were arguing in German. He closed his eyes with a sigh. It really was an ugly language.

It was the woman's voice that caught his attention. Her accent was different, and her voice managed to make the German sound almost musical, which was quite a feat. Except she was clearly very, very angry. 

He felt a soft, cool hand on his chest and opened his eyes to find a woman peering at his left arm, or what was left of it. She had dark brown hair pulled back in a fierce bun, hazel eyes and a wicked, recent looking scar down her left cheek. 

Behind her, the men were still arguing. She glanced at his face, saw his eyes were open and said in soft, accented English, "Hello, Sergeant Barnes."

He didn't want to think this random Hydra nurse was pretty. She was surely as evil as the rest of them. "Teaching you squids English now, eh?"

Her eyes crinkled in what might have been amusement. "I learned it in school, but most of them do not. Feel free to call them what you like."

Her use of 'them' was interesting. "Why are they so het up?"

She glanced behind her briefly. "You need surgery for your arm. It needs a clean cut or there will be infection. I am the only doctor here, but they do not want to give me a scalpel."

So she was a prisoner, too. "There are five of them, they think you're going to kill them with a tiny scalpel?"

"The last time they gave me a scalpel I killed two guards before they stopped me. Tiny scalpels are very sharp." She paused and listened to the other men. "They have agreed that three guns pointed at me at all times will be sufficient. I think I am flattered."

He looked at his arm, then back at her. "Won't you need a saw? Humerus is a pretty big bone."

"Hush, they might add more guards." One of them snapped something at her and she rolled her eyes. "They don't like that I'm talking to you in English." She continued examining his arm as she replied to the men in German.

Bucky took a few breaths. "So, are we doing this Civil War style?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

For some reason that made him smile. Of course, why would she know about that. He tried to think of 19th century European wars. "Napoleonic style? Will I be awake for this?"

"Oh!" She shook her head, looking horrified. "No. No, of course not. Once they stop pissing themselves we'll put you under anesthesia. It should be a short operation. They have pain killers here. I will make them use them."

"I've heard excellent things about morphine," he replied. He looked at the arguing guards. "If they don't let you, it's. . . it's all right. I can take it."

She studied him a moment then nodded. "Yes. I imagine you can. Still, shock can be as dangerous as a wound. And they want you alive." She glanced back at the men, then touched his forehead lightly. "It will be all right, Sergeant. I'll take good care of you."

Of course they wanted him alive. More experiments? Torture? Would he be able to tell them apart? It hadn't been all that obvious last time. "What's your name?" he asked. 

There was a fraction of a moment when she hesitated. "Neuberg. Amanda Neuberg."

"Nice to meet you, Doc."

She smiled then, in such a way it changed her face from pretty to breathtaking. "I will see you when you wake up, Sergeant."

The last thing he thought, before she put him under, was that when he broke out of here, he was going to have to take her with him.


	2. I’m Stepping Out With a Memory Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any German speakers in the crowd I apologize in advance for any awful things I may have done to your awesome language.

_London_

A message about the successful capture of Dr. Zola, and the loss of Sgt. Barnes had reached London well in advance of the returning Howling Commandos. News had been delivered to Peggy by Phillips's secretary, Lorraine, who Peggy still kind of thought of as The Cheap Strumpet. Not just because she had kissed Steve, as good as Peggy was about holding a grudge. But she certainly got around. And it was women like that that made Peggy feel like her entire life was nothing but swimming upstream.

They arrived with Zola in their custody, trussed up like Christmas Goose. MPs had met their transport, but the men had apparently wanted to see to it themselves. Dugan heaved the little man over his shoulder, and then once inside their base unceremoniously tossed him on the floor and growled, "Someone find him a dark cell."

Phillips came to stand beside her. "Apparently they started without us."

Peggy was watching Steve, who was standing as still has she'd ever seen. "I think you're lucky Zola's not dead," she replied.

Everyone was quickly gathered around the table for a debrief. Nobody dared sit in the empty chair to Steve's right. He stared blankly at the table while Jones recounted the mission in a voice that was a little rough.

Phillips made arrangements to send phony info to DC, in a code they were sure Hydra had cracked. Then he'd go have a nice chat with Zola to see what they could get out of him. Peggy didn't envy him the duty. Zola was an unpleasant little man and she'd rather not spend any time in his presence.

After the meeting, she saw several of the commandos try to talk to Steve, but he shook them off. She had the thought he needed a hug, but wasn't going to take it from any of them. Men were like that. He'd probably take it from her. . . but that was complicated. Far more complicated than she'd ever expected it to be. In any case, he'd slipped away before she could get near him.

"He said he went out," Morita told her. "I think he needs a little space."

Steve wasn't back by dark, and London was hit by rockets that night, frightening close to their base. The city went into black out. Peggy had a desk full of reports to read, a prisoner to process and Howard Stark to keep an eye on lest he blew something up. But she found herself buttoning up her coat and heading into the dark.

She went to the pub the men had frequented first. It was blown out, missing part of its roof and most of the front wall. She could hear a radio announcer talking about the blackout deeper in the wreckage. So she picked her way through the rubble to the back room.

Steve was sitting at what looked to be only surviving table, with a glass and a bottle in front of him. He glanced back at her, then sniffled and wiped his eyes. She could tell just by the sound of his voice he'd been crying, but she wasn't going to say anything about it as he complained about his inability to get drunk, and she righted a chair to sit beside him.

She was well aware that, at a time like this, words were meaningless. She didn't consider herself very good at comfort. But sometimes there were things one needed to hear, probably over and over again, until they believed them. So she said, "It wasn't your fault," though she knew he wouldn't believe it for a long time, if ever.

"Did you read the report?" he replied.

"Yes."

He shook his head with a little bit of a laugh that had no humor in it. "Then you know that's not true."

"You did everything you could." His face remained closed off. Right, well, she wasn't much for platitudes either. She tried another tact. "Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him?" She paused mostly for effect, as she knew the answer. "Then stop blaming yourself. Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it." She didn’t know Barnes very well, but she knew his history with Steve. Knew the loyalty that went bone deep. Thinking Steve was worth his life was probably an understatement.

He was silent for a moment, staring at his glass. "I'm going after Schmidt," he said finally, his voice hard. "I'm not going to stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured."

As strategies for handling grief went it was, at least, productive. Who knew, maybe at the end he'd feel better. "You won't be alone," she said gently.

He looked up at her for a moment. "Well. Not in the fight, no."

Hesitantly, she reached across the little table and touched the back of his hand. "Steve. You are not alone."

"Of course not, I'm Captain America. I have enough fans to sink a fucking aircraft carrier."

The profanity surprised her a bit, but she found it oddly refreshing. "You know, you still have one person who remembers you before you were the Captain." She swallowed and added. "I'm quite fond of Steve Rogers."

That got her just the ghost of a smile, but that was a tremendous victory given she knew how badly he was hurting. "I had very mixed feelings about you back then. Everyone hates their Drill Sargent. But no one else's was quite so nice to look at, I'd guess." He looked at his glass. "Maybe this is working."

" _In vino veritas_ , as they say." She glanced around and spotted an intact glass on the bar behind her. A wipe of her handkerchief got most of the dust and she poured herself a few fingers of whatever he was drinking. "If we are admitting things from boot camp, I will tell you that by the time you took down the flag pole you had quite won me over."

"Brute force is not always the answer to everything. And it was so worth the look on everyone's faces."

She laughed, because that had been the best part. "It was a lesson many of them needed to learn. Also, not to underestimate anyone based on prejudice."

He clinked his glass against hers. "Will you answer a question honestly? Even though I'm having a terrible day and your instinct is probably to say whatever will make me feel better?"

"Have you ever known me to be dishonest?" She sipped her drink. "Ask away."

"If I'd asked you to dance, back then, would you have said yes?"

Peggy leaned forward, smiling a little. "Absolutely."

He looked up, and his eyes searched her face. "I'm sorry about the thing with the girl. And the fondue. I know it was a long time ago, I just. . ." He shook his head. "I feel like I owe you extra apologies for thinking somebody like you would put up with Stark." 

She couldn't help laughing at that. "Howard flirted with me when we met, of course. I've yet to see Howard meet a girl he did _not_ flirt with at first meeting. I made it abundantly clear that I was not interested and he respected that. I'm fairly certain I fall into a category he otherwise reserves for siblings and maiden aunts." She smiled. "I will confess, it is on occasion, nice to be the cause of jealousy. Though you handled yours far better than I did."

"I noticed," he said dryly. "And look I. . . She just grabbed my tie. She insisted she wanted to thank me on behalf of American Women or something. I didn't even _want_ to kiss her. But I couldn't just, what, shove her? I must have a hundred pounds on her."

"I understand," she said, and she did. "It's never easy to reject advances. Especially aggressive ones."

He took a breath. "But I am sorry," he said quietly. "I wish all of that had never happened."

"Consider it forgiven." Though if she ever had an opportunity to trip Lorraine in the hall ways she was going to take it and not feel a smidgen of guilt. "And forgotten."

"I forgive you for shooting at me," he replied. "Even though you didn't apologize."

She smirked a little. "I apologize for shooting at you. If I ever catch you in the arms of another woman again I will give you an opportunity to explain before shooting at you."

That actually earned her a real smile. "I still don't know how to talk to women. Bucky had a knack for it, and. . ." She could see the grief hit him again, and it took him a moment to start talking again. "When we had downtime he would tell me I should write you, tell me what I should say." Steve swallowed. "He would know what I should say right now."

Honestly, she thought her heart might actually be breaking for him. "Say what you like, Steve. I give you a free pass. Whatever's on your mind. I won't be upset." She spread her hands. "I'm not even armed."

He looked at her for a long moment, and then he said, "I don't want anybody else. Just you."

Obviously she'd known, or at least suspected it was true. But hearing him say it was . . . very gratifying. "Oh, Steve." She swallowed. "You leave me in a bit of a quandary." His face fell and she hurried on. "You see, I have this tremendous urge to kiss you, but you've just gotten through telling me about Lorraine and I hate to -"

Before she could finish her sentence, he stood up, and then pulled her to her feet. The rest of the words died as they locked eyes, and he lifted one hand to cup her cheek before bending his head down to kiss her. She sank her fingers into his hair at the back of his head, stepping closer. She felt his other arm wrap around her, holding her to his broad chest.

Inexperienced he might be, but his kiss warmed her, down to her toes. He tasted of the bitter alcohol he'd been drinking and of the months of attraction they had both danced around.

Outside, the air raid sirens wailed again. Steve lifted his head enough to murmur, "You shouldn't have come out in this."

"Neither should you," she murmured back. He didn't even have his bloody shield.

"For a little bit there, I didn't entirely care."

She ruffled her fingers in his hair. "And now?"

"Now I think we should not be standing in this building with half a roof." He slid his hand into hers. "Come on, I know this place has a shelter in the cellar. The competent soldier was coming out now, but she was all right with that. She'd follow him into battle. He grabbed the bottle and she took the glasses and he found the door to the stairs leading below. There was, in fact, a shelter down there, now empty but clearly having been used by people. The family that owned the pub, she expected. After its destruction it was likely they’d left London. She hoped, anyway. She didn't want to contemplate any more death tonight. There were a couple of cots, and a small table and chairs. The ceiling was so low Steve had to stoop.

She wasn't entirely certain where to sit. The table provided more drinking opportunities, but less kissing potential. The cot was probably a little too forward, though. So she put the glasses on the table and tugged the chairs out for them. He sat in a chair, but he didn't let go of her hand. "Thank you," he said.

After a moment's mental debate she decided to forego her chair and perched on his lap. "Whatever for?"

His smile was worth it. "Finding me. Making today feel a little less terrible. Wanting me back. Existing."

She smiled. "Ah. Well then, you're quite welcome. I enjoy all of those things."

He traced his fingertips along the side of her face, and grazed his thumb over her cheek. "Can we just pretend the war and everything doesn't exist for a little bit?"

From the time she was a little girl Peggy had known that to get what she wanted out of life she would need to be better, try harder, push further. She had never, in all that time, shirked her duties or hid from responsibility. Had you asked her, she would have said she was incapable of it. But for this man, in this particular moment, she found she was capable of just about anything.

She cupped her face in her hands. "Tonight it's just you and me," she promised. Then she dipped her head to kiss him again.

*

_HYDRA base, somewhere in the Alps_

Amanda sat in a stiff backed yet remarkably over cushioned chair, watching her patient sleep. It was far better than the accommodations she was used to, down in what was essentially a cage in the bowels of the underground base. She had convinced them to let her stay up here and monitor Barnes during his recovery.

The surgery had been as straight forward as she'd expected it to be. She had kept his morphine dose high to let him sleep, it seemed the most conducive to healing at this point.The dosage Zola had given him had worked, far better than even she had realized at the time. He was healing at a remarkable rate. The last time she'd checked his stitches they had looked more than a week old, rather than a day.

She hadn't told him she'd been in the base in Austria; had had a hand in the things that were done to him there. She would probably need to confess that soon, but for now there were more pressing matters.

Across from her, he groaned and then opened his eyes. Of course, who knew how well morphine worked on someone who had had the serum. 

She unfolded herself from her chair and moved to his bedside. "Hello. I did promise I would see you when you woke up."

He wiggled his feet, and looked down at them. "My bones are healing."

"Yes," she said quietly. "I don't have the equipment here for x-rays, but manual manipulation indicates you're close to seventy percent healed. I imagine you'll be able to walk by dinnertime." She had little sense of time here, being underground, but they fed people on regular intervals and she based it on that.

"That's not normal." It was a statement, not a question.

"No, it isn't." This would be a good time to take his hand, offer up some words of comfort. But she had never had the best bedside manner and platitudes were a waste of time at this point. "Last year, in Austria, you were captured. They experimented on you. A man named Zola, you remember?" He made a face but nodded. "You were given a . . . I don't know the English word. Medicine. Injection. Process. That was similar to what Dr. Erskine did to Schmidt and your friend Captain America."

"Steve," Barnes said. "His name is Steve Rogers." He shifted uncomfortably. "So why didn't I gain a foot and a hundred pounds."

"The proper formula was lost with Doctor Erskine. What you and the other unfortunate men in your company received was a poor substitute cobbled together by Zola with my eventual help." She swallowed hard. "I was Erskine's associate, when he first worked on Schmidt. I assisted in his research before he defected. It's why Schmidt sought me out when he began to form Hydra. Refusal was not an option."

"Why didn't you defect with Erskine?"

"I was young and a woman. Still with my family. We were not as connected and no one was going to sponsor a woman doctor." She gave a bitter smile. "What use could I be?"

He seemed to consider that. "When we get to London, I'm going to introduce you to Steve's girlfriend. I think you'd get along."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. She was certain she'd lost something in translation. "I see convincing you to escape will be easier than expected."

"Loitering around for more torture doesn't sound like an ideal Plan A."

"It will need to be soon. Something is coming. Schmidt has planes, he's planning an attack of some kind. I do not know what they will do to me, to either of us, once it is launched."

"Execution is popular." He looked down at his arm and sighed. "Need to find some one-handed guns."

"The armory is near the medical supply room. I can get what we need, but once it’s begun we will need to move quickly."

"Will I heal enough in time to fight. . .in a useful manner?"

She scanned the length of him. "You are the first successful process I have witnessed. How do you feel now?"

"Sore. Itchy. I can still feel my left hand."

Considering the extent of his injuries he should be far more than sore. That was a good sign. "That's common in amputation. You moved your feet, do you think you can sit up?"

"Maybe. I might throw up, though. You're too pretty to throw up on." He turned and looked at his IV line, glaring at it like it had personally betrayed him.

Possibly the morphine was working better than she'd thought, if he was calling her pretty. "I've been a prisoner for over a year, I assure you, _erbrechen_ will be the least of my indignities." She shifted forward to slide an arm under his. 

He was warm and solid, and didn't seem to mind leaning on her as he slowly managed to get upright. "When dignity stops mattering, they've won."

She had lost count of how many times she'd had to stitch her dignity back together from scraps in the last sixteen months. It was not something she wished to discuss with him, though. She braced a hand on his shoulder and one one his ribs as he gripped her arm with his hand. "How does sitting up feel?"

He grit his teeth. "Is there a bucket in here?"

"Ah." She eased him back a little and reached below the bed for a basin, which she tucked at his side. " I don't know how to estimate your healing time. You may be ready in a few hours. More likely another day or two."

He did, in fact, vomit in the basin. It was reasonably dignified, as vomit went. "Do you know where we are?" he finally asked.

" _Die Alpen_. The mountains. We are underground."

"There was one base we didn't know about. I knew they were shipping weapons here, because people aren't careful what they say around prisoners they intend to kill. But I didn't know where it was."

"From what I have heard this is the last major base left in Europe." He looked a little less green, so she fetched him a little water to rinse his mouth out. "I do not know how far into the mountains we are, but I can make my away around the base well enough. There are a great deal of soldiers, though."

"Are there other prisoners?"

She shook her head. "Not that I have encountered. With the attacks by Captain Rogers and your team they have been unable to capture more. Zola brought me from Austria when that facility was destroyed. I haven't seen anyone since."

"If my team had success, they have Zola now."

That was one little toad she'd be happy never to see again. "They did. Schmidt was. . . quite angry at the loss. I believe it is part of the reason he has hurried his plan of attack."

"Good," Barnes said. Then he sighed. "They must think I'm dead. I hope Steve isn't beating himself up too bad."

Amanda perched on the edge of his bed again, nudging the vomit bucket back underneath. "You are good friends?"

"Yes. More like brothers, really. I've known him since we were knee high to a grasshopper. He is sincerely the best man I know."

_Knee high to a -_ Americans had the oddest expressions. "There is a radio room, but it is heavily manned. I don't think I can get word out to reassure him. And he likely wouldn't believe it if I did."

"The others will take care of him. And he's not one to do something self destructive." He paused. "Well. That's not true. But he wouldn't do it out of grief. Just because he thought it was the right thing to do. He can be kind of an idiot sometimes. You ever see a small dog that thinks it can fight a bear? That's Steve. Except thanks to your buddy, he's now at least bear-sized himself." 

It was all said with such genuine affection that she had to smile. "And you? Before Erskine, were you the big dog that got him out of trouble?"

He smiled back. "Usually. That's how we met. I'm walking home from school, and a look down an alley and there's this squinty-eyed fat kid beating up a little blonde boy who I swear didn't look old enough for kindergarden. And the little one is fighting back! Not very well, granted, but he clearly wasn't going to lay down and take it. I had to intervene, or he was going to end up dead."

Amanda thought that was a sign that he was at least as good a man as Rogers was. "I would like to hear more of your stories, Sergeant."

"You could call me Bucky," he said. "That's what everyone calls me."

"Bucky. That's an odd name."

"My middle name is Buchanan. James Buchanan Barnes. My Dad's name is James, too. Hence the nickname."

"James Buchanan Barnes." It was a bit of a mouthful. "Well. Bucky. You should sleep, if you can. Rest will help you heal."

"Are they going to take you away once they know I'm better?" he asked quietly.

"Most likely. I have been fibbing about your progress as best I can. They are distracted, it's helped."

"I'll be sure to look like death if we get any visitors. I was pretty good and convincing my mother I was too sick to go to school when I was a kid."

She laughed softly. "I can picture that. I'm sure you were quite the _schlingel_." She searched her memory for the right word. "I'm sorry, it's been a long time since I spoke English. Maker of mischief, but in a pleasant way."

"I can't deny that. Steve mostly kept me honest. I mostly kept him alive. Worked out pretty even."

"It sounds like you are both good brothers." His hand was resting on his stomach and she reached out to squeeze it lightly. "I look forward to meeting him."

He turned his hand over and squeezed back. "We'll get out of here. Or die trying. Though that's really, _really_ Plan B."

Anyone who could make her laugh this often and in these circumstances was surely worth risking her life for. "Agreed."


	3. There Is a Tavern in Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think we'll try a Wednesday/Saturday posting schedule for now. 
> 
> Enjoy some Steggy smut.

_London_

Steve didn't know how long they sat there kissing. Long enough he wondered about the stability of the rickety chair they were on. Long enough all her lipstick was gone and smeared as much on him as her. Long enough she absolutely had to be able to feel exactly how much he wanted her. He hadn't slapped him though, which he considered a good sign. Bucky had once sagely warned him about taking care not to 'poke them in the hip' while necking. At the time he'd been amused by the fact that his friend had thought he'd get close enough to a girl to poke her with anything, accidentally or otherwise.

Eventually, she lifted her mouth from his and rested her head on his. "Darling, I'm making every effort not to rush you. But if we don't move on to clothing removal of some sort I'm going to burst."

Clothing removal. He approved of that. "I feel I have a gentlemanly duty to ask you if you're sure. And also to say that we should move in any case as I think this chair is cracking."

She laughed a little breathlessly and slowly uncurled her legs to climb off his lap. "I am quite sure. And a little concerned the cots are not anymore stable."

"I'm willing to risk it." He watched her stand, struck for a moment at just how beautiful she was. She couldn't possibly be his. Not even for just right now. "Listen. I should warn you. . ." he trailed off, not sure exactly how to locate the right words.

The fact she was unbuttoning her coat was not helping. "You've never done this before?" she offered.

He sighed. "No. I have, actually. I would probably be less nervous if I hadn't." He took a breath, and said the rest in a rush. "I think I'm bad at it. I may disappoint you."

She tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully. "Did you have an unfortunate experience?"

Steve could feel his cheeks heating. He had the awful feeling he was ruining this, but he started talking anyway. "During the Captain America road show. I went back to my hotel room one night, and this woman was just. . . in there. In her underwear. I'd met her earlier after the show, but I couldn't remember her name." He shook his head. "I couldn't just throw her out into the hallway without her clothes. I'm trying to figure out how to nicely say that, yes, I am flattered—and she was very pretty—but she should get dressed, I didn't even know her. . . and the next thing I know she's got her hand down my pants." He sighed. "She was very pretty."

Peggy's thoughtful expression had changed to something closer to sympathy, which was probably a better reaction than he deserved. "Oh, darling." She stepped towards him and started undoing his tie. "Do you want to be with me? Tonight, like this?"

He watched her hands on his tie, and then his shirt. "Of course I do. I just. . . I didn't—don't—know what the hell I'm doing. I mean, _I_ enjoyed it, to be honest, but she clearly didn't. It didn't exactly, uh, take very long. I believe all she said was, 'That's it?' before getting dressed and stomping out." He knew his face was turning red with embarrassment again. Why was he telling her this? He didn't look at her face, but her hands had stopped moving halfway down the buttons of his shirt. 

"Well," she said lightly. "That's what she gets for sticking her hand down a man's pants without so much as a by-your-leave." She ducked her head a little, so he had to look at her. "I know what I like. I am very good at giving instructions. As long as you want me to enjoy it and are willing to take said instructions with good humor I believe we will have an extremely pleasant evening."

He stroked her cheek with his fingertips, then slid them down her throat, all the way to the neckline of her blouse. "I want you to tell me what you like. Or show me."

She smiled and her eye lids fluttered a little at his touch. "Good," she said softly and her fingers started marching down his buttons again. He begun undoing the buttons of her blouse, having a little more trouble with the slippery fabric and tiny buttons than he expected. It was work to keep his hands steady.

His shirt was undone long before hers and she peeled it down his arms, forcing him to abandon her buttons. She gave a little tug at his undershirt and he obediently peeled it off, a little relieved to see she'd taken over unfastening her blouse. She started to shrug out of it, but stopped when he got the undershirt off and dropped it. 

Pausing in her own undressing, she lifted a hand and touched his chest, much as she had when he'd first stepped out of the rebirth machine. This time, she touched him far more confidently, and followed it with a kiss. A small shudder passed through him, before she straightened again pulled her blouse from her skirt.

The brassiere the woman in the hotel room had worn had been some lacy contraption. Peggy's was much simpler, white and practical. But he liked it. There was no artifice to it. Just like her. "It fastens in the back?" he asked.

She nodded and turned so he could see it. "Push it together before pulling it apart."

"They make braces with hooks like these," he told her. "I used to get injured a lot." He carefully undid the hooks, and her shoulders rounded as they gave way. The straps slid off them to reveal angry red marks in her skin. He bent his head to kiss them, just because he wanted to. Then he inhaled the scent of her skin for a moment before kissing a little further up, at the base of her neck. Maybe this would be all right, just because he _wanted_ her. He wanted to touch and kiss every inch of her skin.

She sighed softly and leaned into him, resting her back against his chest. He kissed her neck, nuzzled at her hair. Then she caught his hands with hers and drew them up her stomach to cup her bare breasts. He filled them with the warm weight—more than filled, actually, as they were bigger than his hands. It had been obvious fully dressed that they were extraordinary. Reality did not disappoint. He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, and was pleased both at the sound she made, and the way they pebbled. "That felt good?" he asked.

"Yes," she said softly, turned her head to look at him. "Very good." She turned, and they kissed again. He wrapped his arms around her, and hers went around him, their bodies pressed so close there wasn't room for air. Her breasts pressing against his chest felt better than her hand had.

The kiss was different, too, deeper, more intense. She was making quiet little noises in her throat as they kissed, especially when his hands moved on her. When she released him briefly, he thought it would be to go for his belt, but she reached behind herself and undid the zipper on her skirt, and it slid down her legs to puddle on the floor. Her legs were bare; stockings were for special occasions and she wasn't a woman to waste time with leg makeup. No girdle, probably because she wouldn't put on anything that would impede her ability to kick someone in the head, should the need arise. Just a pair of fluttery-looking drawers. He was staring and he couldn't stop, so he reached and touched the waistband. "Can I. . .?"

"Yes, of course." She turned her head to kiss his jaw. He slid his hands beneath the elastic and then pushed the fabric off her hips. As it fell he followed it, skimming his hands over her rear and pulling her closer.

He heard her breath quicken a little. Now her hands went to his belt, undoing it deftly and letting it gap as she went to the fastening of his slacks.

Steve felt compelled to ask, "Does there need to be some sort of by-your-leave first?"

Hands stopping again, she looked up at him. "I assumed your hands on my arse was invitation to do the same. But if you'd prefer to stop, now would be the time to say so."

That made him chuckle. "No. In fact, hell no. If you stop, I might actually die. Just checking in case by-your-leave meant something special to you brits." He dipped his head to kiss her mouth. "Maybe there was a code word." 

She abandoned his fly to cup the back of his head, holding him down for a deeper kiss. "You have my complete and utter permission to touch, kiss, lick or otherwise fondle any party of me you wish."

"We do have plenty of time. I might try all of them." He sucked on her lower lip. "And likewise."

"Excellent." Her hand wandered down his chest, exploring. "We are reaching the point when it would be easier to not be standing." Her hand reached his waistband and slid beneath. "Unless you were planning to pin me to a wall. Which has its merits, but might be a bit ambitious for our first time."

The mental image that conjured, combined with the feel of her warm fingers on him—the room just about spun. He reached out and touched the wall, which was both cold and damp. "Maybe next time." He really hoped there really would be a next time.

"I shall hold you to that." She gave him one slow, firm stroke, then stepped back towards the cot. "Come here, I'd like for you to touch me as well and I'm not entirely sure my legs will hold me."

The cot seemed extra wide. He knew they built them to accommodate more than one person. Maybe it would hold their weight after all. In any case, he was too mesmerized by her to do anything but follow. Walking was a little awkward with his pants half falling down, so when they reached the cot, he sat to take them and his shoes and socks off. He watched her kick her heels onto the floor.

She tucked her legs up onto the cot and when he'd finished he turned to look at her. She was half reclined on the bed, looking like something out of a painting. He hoped her remembered it well enough to draw later. Maybe she'd even pose for him, if they ever found privacy.

After giving him a moment to look, Peggy leaned forward and kissed him, drawing him down onto the rough sheets with her. Very gently, she guided one of his hand to the thatch of hair between her thighs. He spread his fingers out to explore her, listening for her to make a sound of pleasure to tell him he'd found the right spot. She broke the kiss to gasp when he did. He took the opportunity to bend a little lower and kiss one of her breasts.

"I like that," she whispered, voice breaking as he stroked the same spot again. Her head tipped back and she closed her eyes, hips lifting up into his hand. 

He kissed her sternum, and then the other breast. "Both?" he asked, just for clarity.

She nodded eagerly then said, "You could. . . suck." He wondered if she was actually blushing or was just flushed from what he was doing. It didn't matter, he had every intention of following her instructions. He pulled her nipple into his mouth, rubbing the spot he found with his fingers, and she moaned in approval. Which. . . actually gave him an idea.

He lifted his head to look at her. "Can I really kiss you anywhere?"

Looking a bit dazed, she met his gaze and stroked his cheek with her knuckles. "Yes. Anywhere." 

He turned his head to kiss her palm, and said, "Good." Then he shifted, pressing slow, gentle kisses into her skin, working his way down her body until he met his hand.

"Oh, God. _Steve._ " Her fingers sunk into his hair as he licked the spot his fingers had been. The noise she made was indescribable and shot right through. This had been an excellent idea. He hadn't known a woman would taste good, like this, but she did. She widened her legs and rocked up to him, making unintelligible pleading sounds. It was achingly arousing, that he could this to her.

He would happily have stayed there all night, exploring her and finding new ways to make her moan. Eventually, her pleas became his name, repeated over and over again. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she started to shake. Her sex seemed to throb and pulse against his tongue and the next time he stroked her she tugged him away as if it were too much.

Concerned, he looked up at her, shifting back up the bed. She was breathing hard and her eyes were closed. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"Yes." She paused to swallow and patted him vaguely. "Yes, darling. That was me. . . enjoying it."

"Good." He nuzzled her hair, not sure if it was okay to kiss her. "You need a minute?"

Solving his problem, she turned her head to kiss him, slow and tender. "Perhaps half of one," she conceded. "I don't suppose you have a condom in your wallet by any chance?"

"I. . . you know, I might. They pass them out with the rations. Grub, smokes and rubbers." He sat up. "I shoved one in my coat on the way out because I'm always hungry. Usually the boys raid mine." He fished his jacket off the floor. "Dugan takes the cigarettes and Morita takes the condoms." He yanked the tin out of the pocket and popped it open. "Man gets more action than—ah ha!" Steve held up the small white envelope labeled 'prophylactic'.

Peggy laughed a little as he tossed the jacket away and tore open the envelope. Without a word, she plucked the little packet out of his hands and shifted closer to slide the rubber down his length. The kiss she gave him when it was done was oddly sweet and affectionate.

"I want you so much," he whispered against her mouth.

"Likewise." She wound a leg around his waist and tugged him down so he sprawled over her. "Come here."

He kissed her mouth as thoroughly as he pleased, and felt her reach down to help guide him inside her. She was slick and hot and. . . Jesus. For a moment he simply had to be still, despite the very sexy noise she made.

She seemed to understand. He felt her stroke his hair a few times before resting her cheek against his. "Take your time," she murmured. "It's all right."

A few breaths, and the need to move overwhelmed him. He braced on his elbows and lifted his head so he could watch her as he pulled almost all the way out and slid back in. She made the same noise again and he grinned.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding on as he thrust. Sometimes she held his gaze. Often she tipped her head back, arching and lifting into him. The sounds she made, the little whimpers and pleas, were incredible. That he had done this to her, driven her to incoherent moans and sighs, was possibly the sexiest thing of all. He wanted to make her come apart again, like she had before. He worked a hand between their bodies, so he could find the spot. The pitch of her cries changed, and her fingernails bit into his skin.

"Steve," she gasped out. "Please. . . firmer." He obeyed and she let out a sharp, broken sound and began to shake the way she had before. Only it was better this time because he could feel all of it, inside and out, as she clenched around him.

There was no way he could survive that. Blood roared in his ears and everything blurred. All he was aware of for a moment was a white hot rush of pleasure.

When awareness returned, she was gasping for air beneath him, one hand stroking his damp back. He lifted his head to look at her, his heart such a tangled mess of emotions he had no idea what to say.

She gave him an utterly brilliant smile and lifted her head to brush a kiss against his mouth. He'd been about to ask something about how she was, but happiness was written all over her face.

After another kiss the murmured, "Best deal with the condom quickly."

"Right, right, sorry." He climbed off her carefully. He had no idea where he ought to dispose of it. There didn't seem to be any trash cans. Finally he just tossed it in the darkest corner. When he turned back, Peggy was pulling blankets up over the bed. It was rather cold, actually. She held a corner up for him and he slid beneath it. They had to do a bit of shifting to fit, and she ended up mostly on top of him, but he wasn't really complaining about that.

He rubbed her back, letting himself enjoy the feel of her skin. "I feel the urge to say thank you again," he finally said.

"Mmm." She nuzzled at his shoulder. "You're welcome. Though I do feel I was more than adequately repaid."

"Well. Then it was all worth it."

She was silent a moment. "I would like to repeat the experience."

He cleared his throat. "Right now?"

"No," she said with a laugh. "But in the future. As much as we can."

"I would like that too," he said. "But I do want to state, for the record, that if you wanted to, right now would also be fine." He paused. "Well, except I only had the one rubber."

One of her brows quirked a little. "Well, that is not a side effect her mentioned. But I suppose it makes sense."

He lifted his head. "A _side effect_?"

She cleared her throat. "Most men are not up for another round mere minutes later."

"Ah," he said, not sure why he felt embarassed again. "I did not know that."

"I consider it a bonus. Women are _quite_ capable of multiple rounds a night."

He chuckled. "Now I really wish I had more rubbers."

"It's something to look forward to. For next time."

Steve turned his head and kissed her temple. "I wish we could just stay here all night," he whispered.

He felt her sigh. "So do I. But I think being found by some sort of rescue party might be a level of embarrassment that is deadly."

"If it's the Commandos I think think they'll applaud."

"As well earned as that round of applause might be, I'd still prefer to avoid it."

They had a little time, still, he thought. "Would you mind if I drew you?"

She lifted her head to look at him. "I'd be honored."

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Well. I draw your face all the time. I think I could do it if I was blind. I want to draw you like you are tonight." 

"Oh." He was fairly certain she was blushing now. "I'd be happy to pose for you. If you like."

"I'll hold you to that." He sighed. "I should get dressed and go see if the air raid is done."

"Yes." She rubbed a hand over his chest. "This is not our last stolen moment. I promise."

He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I'm going to hold you to that, too."


	4. Lay Down in Your Arms

_HYDRA base, somewhere in the Alps_

Bucky healed with a rapidity that surprised both him and his doctor, but he played the role of invalid to the hilt. If the squids knew he was better, they would take her away. Instead, they moved in a cot so she could monitor him.

They spent most of their time doing some modified form of physical therapy. Amanda was given a remarkable amount of freedom, coming and going with a guard when she needed supplies and the like. She timed her requests well, trying to pick up bits of gossip at shift change.

She had either smuggled or cajoled a deck of cards from somewhere and once he was able to sit upright for long periods they killed time teaching each other card games. They were on their third game of something called Elfern and Bucky was starting to wonder if she was making it up as she went along.

"Do doctors play a lot of card games?"

"Hmm? No, not especially. My father taught me these when I was young."

"You Germans have some bizarre card games is all."

She smiled a little. "I suppose. You're lucky there's just two of us. The games for four players are worse."

"I will keep that in mind for when we get back to London." He stretched his back. "There's a man on my team who sincerely might be one of the smartest people alive. I'd love to see if you can stump him with a confusing card game." He shook his head. "Just promise me you won't sleep with him."

She'd been about to put a card in the discard pile, but stopped to look up at him. "Do American card games often end in sex?"

"No, but I wouldn't be surprised if Stark's did."

Putting her card down, she took another and rearranged her hand. "He is popular with women?"

"Yes. To excess. I think he's charmed the entire secretarial pool."

The face she made reassured him he would not, in fact, have to worry about her and Stark. "My sister thought herself in love with such a man once. My father was beside himself. A more suitable man caught her eye before it could go too far."

"A certain sign of intelligence. Though, I'm not surprised, you know, given you."

She gave a very unladylike snort. "Yes, too smart has been a common complaint."

"You're a very good doctor," he told her. "You'd be a bad one if you were dumb."

That got him a very small smile. She put down her cards and sighed a little. "I think when I went to school to be a doctor my mother hoped I would come home with a husband instead." For a moment grief filled her eyes. Then she tightened her jaw and added, "I suppose if I had I would not be here now. And that would not have worked out quite so well for you."

"She's gone?" he asked quietly. "Your mother?"

Her mouth thinned and she nodded. "Both of them. Schmidt's men shot them when I refused to help him."

He didn't say anything for a moment. He couldn't. Then he reached out and closed his hand over hers. She turned her hand over and held his, weaving their fingers together. She didn't say anything, either, just held his hand and looked off into a middle distance, obviously fighting tears.

A small tug on her hand pulled her closer, and let go of her hand so he could put his arm around here. It was the first time he really, really longed for the one he'd lost. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She shook her head, sniffling a little, but she leaned on him, the warm weight pleasant despite the vaguely itchy uniform she wore. "Thank you," she said finally, voice rough, accent thicker. "No one has said that, yet."

"That's because I'm the only other person here who's not an asshole."

Her shoulders jerked with a little bark of laughter. "That is true."

"I figured they tortured you," he said after a moment. "I just didn't know how."

Her arms slid around him, almost hesitantly. "I told you I stabbed two guards when they gave me a scalpel. It was a month after I was taken. I did not do it thinking I would escape. I hoped they would kill me, too."

"Do you still wish they had?"

She shifted a little, so her chin rested on his shoulder. "I don't know," she said quietly. "Less so, perhaps." 

"Good. Because I want to get us out of here alive."

"As do I. I am no longer _selbstmörderisch_ \- ah, wishing for death." She straightened and wiped at her eyes. "I have decided I would like to see London."

"Maybe after London I'll show you New York."

She smiled. "I've heard the buildings are very tall."

"They are, though they're pretty normal in the part I'm from. We do have one hell of a bridge, though."

"Well. I will add seeing New York to the list of things to live for."

"There will probably be some entertaining antics as I figure out how to live life with a hook. I mean, I think it would be really cool if it were sharp and deadly. But then I'd ruin all my shoelaces." Of course, in reality, life with only one arm terrified him. How would he make a living? Support a family? Was he an invalid now? He couldn't think about those things, so he made jokes instead.

"They have plans to give you a metal arm. Perhaps your smart, charming friend can make you one." She paused, looking at his stump with sad eyes. "I am truly sorry for my part in what was done to you, Bucky."

"Hey, you just fixed up what was already lost. I appreciate the lack of gangrene."

"I did my best. But I meant before, as well. In Austria. I know the process was. . . unpleasant."

He shook his head. "No. Don't blame yourself for something you were forced to do."

She swallowed visibly, but nodded. "I will try not to."

"You and me, Doc, we're square."

Her brow furrowed at that. They'd spent the last few days tripping over each others idioms and sayings. He wasn't judging, her English was far better than his German. But the places they got stuck were occasionally funny. "I will take that to mean neither of us has wronged the other?"

"Yes. We are even. Like the sides of a square are even." He didn't know if that was the origin of the saying, but it worked as an explanation.

She nodded again. "Good. Thank you."

*

_London_

It was late when Peggy and Steve got back to their underground base. There were barracks on either side of the the sprawling complex. Most of them, obviously, were for men, but there was a small one for women. It was Peggy and a bunch of secretaries. Steve wanted to walk her back there, but she thought it might be too conspicuous.

She stretched up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you in the morning."

He smiled and bent his head and whispered, "Sweet dreams."

"You, too." She nudged him towards the men's barracks before heading towards hers. She did her level best to pretend she wasn't walking on air. She did at least have the seniority to have a private room, tiny though it was. She wondered if Steve's room was this small. There's no way the two of them would fit in that bunk. There was, of course, that wall option.

Her cheeks flushed at the thought. God, what a day it had been, on both ends of the spectrum.

And now, someone was knocking on her door.

She smoothed a hand over her hair, then pressed it to her flushed cheek as if she could will it to cool down. Well, nothing for it. Straightening her shoulders, she went to open it. "Yes?"

"Peggy." Howard Stark, of all people. How had he even gotten back here? 

Looking skyward, she put her hand on the door handle but didn't open it. "Howard, I thought we had settled the matter of the likelihood of you seeing me naked."

" _Are_ you naked?"

"No, but I am _armed_."

"I have something for you. You probably want it." He did manage to sound serious, and not at all lecherous, when he said that. 

This day would surely never end. She opened the door wide enough to look out at him. "What is it?" She attempted not to sound too annoyed.

"I keep the box of letters. You know, 'send if I die, burn if I don't'. Hell if I know why the lot of them think I'm trustworthily. Probably they just think I'm the least likely to die. Which is true." He held an envelope up that had her name on it.

Her brow furrowed, but she took it. "Barnes wrote me a letter?" There was no one else it could be.

"Apparently. Your surprise indicates it was not the love triangle I had considered."

She looked up from studying the handwriting on the letter to glare at him. ”Does your brain have any modes other than inventor and puerile?"

"Sarcasm is a mode as well."

"Goodnight, Howard," she said in exasperation, then added, "Thank you for the letter."

He nodded, and turned to stroll down the hall. She shook her head and shut her door. She turned the envelope over in her hands and opened it. 

Dear Agent Carter, 

I guess I could be less formal, considering I'm dead and all. But you kinda scare me, so I'm going to err on the side of caution. Yeah, it's weird I'm writing you a letter. I can only imagine the face Stark is going to make or what sort of imaginings he's going to cook up in his head. Sorry if something gets around. 

We don't know each other much, so why I'm I writing this? I'm writing this because of Steve. I know he looks like he can handle himself, but he still needs somebody to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't do something stupid. The last time he thought I was dead he went on what was kinda a one-man suicide mission. Worked out, yes, but does lighting strike twice? He doesn't have any family left now. I see the way he looks at you and you look at him. I know you knew him before he was Captain America. I feel like you'll look after him. At least, I hope you will. 

If he hasn't kissed you by the end of the war, will you please have pity on the man? He's the best person I know, and he deserves to be happy. Help him figure out how to do that. 

By the way, James would be an excellent name for your first-born son. 

-Sgt. Barnes 

Peggy sank slowly onto the edge of her bed, reading the letter over a second time. Smiling despite the lump in her throat, she said out loud, "I'll take good care of him Sergeant. I promise."

That night, she slept so well, despite her uncomfortable bunk, she was almost embarrassed by it. In the morning, though, she was sore in all sorts of places. It _had_ been quite a while since she'd been with someone, and if she was honest, it had never been anything like _that_. 

The mess was mostly empty when she got there, the breakfast service close to clearing out. In fact, the only person still sitting at the tables was Steve. It could be coincidence, or it could be that he waited for her.

She filled her tray with what was left of the edible food and went to sit across from him, easing into her seat a little slower than usual. "Good morning."

He looked up at her. His eyes were red and his voice was hoarse, but he smiled at her. "Good morning, Peggy."

Without thinking about it, she reached over and covered his hand. "Are you all right?"

He turned his hand over in hers. "The war and everything was still waiting here when we got back," he said with a sigh. Then he hesitantly added, "Bucky wrote me a letter."

She hadn't been entirely certain if she should mention hers or not. But since he had brought it up. "Actually, he wrote me one, as well."

He smiled a little. "He told me if I didn't make a move on you he was going to personally haunt me until I did."

"He requested that if you had not kissed my by the end of the war I take matters into my own hands."

"I had no idea his matchmaking tendencies were so strong."

"He wanted you to be happy," she said softly. "Apparently, he thought I would help with that."

Steve swallowed hard, and then he whispered, "You do."

"Good. You make me happy, too." She smiled and tried for a lighter tone. "Howard was hoping there was some sort of tawdry love triangle to explain my letter."

"If he ever gives up inventing, he could have a career in writing pulp novels."

"I shall suggest that to him next time we speak."

"We're, uh. . ." He cleared his throat. "We're having a memorial tomorrow. For Bucky."

It was rare they took time to remember someone who had fallen in such an organized way. But Barnes deserved it and Steve likely needed it. "I would love to attend."

He sounded very hesitant when he said, "I would like you attend with me."

She smiled. "I'd love to."

He looked down at his tray. "I mean I want to. . . I want go and to hold your hand." So they would be announcing, effectively, that they were together. 

A memorial service was perhaps not the most romantic event for such a thing. But such was the nature of war. "Yes, Steve."

Then he looked up, and he smiled at her, somehow half heartbroken and half hopeful, and it was all worth it. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. Whatever I can do to help."

He nodded, and he squeeze her hand. "I have to go meet with Phillips. He's still trying to get something useful out of Zola."

"I'll be in my office, if you need me." She shook her head ruefully. "Always more paperwork."

He doodled little circles on the back of her hand. "Do you think tonight. . .?"

"I am more that willing, if you can think of somewhere we can have privacy."

"I don't know if it's worth the teasing. . . but Stark would know."

"I can handle Howard."

If Steve got hassled, he didn't mention it—but he did find them a place. She met him that night in an out of the way storage room. It was about a well decorated as the bomb shelter, only it lacked a bed. But he didn't seem to have any hesitation or nervousness this time, and he was _plenty_ strong enough to lift her up against the wall. 

The main downside was the rather uncomfortable cuddling afterward. She was sprawled rather awkwardly in his lap and could already feel the new places she would ache in the morning. It was rather nice being held against his chest, though. "Someday, I hope to share a proper bed with you. Perhaps in a nice hotel."

"I agree," he replied, kissing her hair. "Sheets. Pillows. We could sleep or stay up and torment each other all night."

"Order room service to keep our energy up."

"Naked dessert sounds like a brilliant idea."

She laughed. He was rather adorable in his enthusiasm. "It does, doesn't it?"

"I could even take you on a date before. You did mention you might be interested in dancing."

Stroking a hand down his chest she murmured, "We've certainly proven to be excellent partners."

He nuzzled her, and sighed contentedly. "I love the sounds you make."

Her cheeks heated, which made her feel a bit silly. She hid her face in his chest. "When we make love?"

"Yes." He ran his fingers down over her spine. "I don't have to wonder if you feel good."

The stroke drew one of those sounds out of her. "You make me feel very good."

"I didn't know it would be like this," he told her.

She lifted her head to look at him. "What did you imagine?"

"I thought it would be more awkward. I didn't realize we'd just. . .fit. That it would feel this natural and normal and. . . I don't know. Right."

"It can be awkward," she admitted. "Especially in these sort of conditions." She kissed him. "But you're right. We do seem very right together."

"I should have said something a long time ago."

Agreeing too loudly would probably hurt his feelings. "Things happen in their own time," she said instead. 

Before he could reply, someone began pounding on the door. They looked at each other for a moment, not sure what to do. Then Stark's voice came through the door. "You in there? You decent?"

Her eyes flew to the door, which didn't have a lock, just a crate Steve had shoved in front of it. They had no blankets, and no clothes on. "Yes and no," Steve called. "You open that door and you're going to get all your bones broken, and then I'll take a turn."

Peggy pressed a hand to her mouth to smother a giggle and gave Steve a little squeeze of appreciation. "What is it, Howard?" she asked when she could manage a severe tone.

"Zola cracked. We've got something. Meeting in ten."

She exchanged a glance with Steve and felt him stiffen a bit in her arms. Stifling a sigh that their moment was over, she replied, "Thank you, Howard. We'll be there."

"Sorry to interrupt. You didn't want Phillips coming looking for you." His footsteps retreated back down the hall. 

"Duty calls," Steve said quietly.

"So it does." She stroked his hair back from his forehead. "It was a pleasant interlude, though. Thank you for that."

He leaned forward to kiss her lightly. "Pleasant? We're going with pleasant?"

"I'm British, we're very circumspect about these things."

"I'll guess I'll have to learn to live with that," he said affectionately. She certainly hoped so. Then he helped her up, and she had the pleasure of watching him dress. She'd liked him before, but it was hard to complain about how _good_ the serum had made him look naked.

Tugging her own uniform on was far less interesting, though he seemed to enjoy watching her tuck herself back into her brasserie. When they were both presentable he moved the crate over and held the door open for her. He stopped her so he could fix a pin or two that had come loose in her hair, and something about the casual intimacy of the act warmed her. This wasn't just stolen moments and interludes.

She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek, right in the middle of the hallway. "Once more into the breach?”


	5. Fools Rush In

_HYDRA base, somewhere in the Alps_

Amanda made a point to leave the little room she shared with Bucky several times a day to get "supplies" and listen to any gossip that might be going around the halls. The time was coming that she wouldn't be able to convince them Bucky wasn't recovered and they would want her to go back to the cages, or possibly begin more surgery to prepare him for the fake arm they wanted to fit him with.

One day, two soldiers stopped her and her guard halfway down the hallway to the supply room. They spoke to her guard as if she wasn't there and then she was returned to the recovery room and shoved in rather abruptly inside, the door slammed behind her. Bucky sat up in bed when he was sure she was alone and she crossed to the bedside. "We need to move. Something is happening. There is talk of an attack and launching the planes early."

"When? Today?"

She nodded, crouching to dig in the bag of supplies she had already managed to smuggle in. "I believe so. The soldiers will be running to battle stations, the chaos will be a good opportunity for us."

"Don't suppose you've got any weapons in that bag?"

Handing him the spare pants and coat she had found for him, she showed him the sharp scalpel she had palmed from the medical supply cabinet the other day. "Give me a moment."

"I'm going to have faith in your scalpel skills."

She appreciated that he didn't try to talk her out of it. "Get dressed," she told him, stepping back to the door. She listened for a moment and didn't hear any commotion or running footstep, so she risked opening the door.

Her guard was still standing there. A quick glance told her the hallway was clear. She stepped out of the room and slammed her boot into the guard's knee before he could even turn to her. He went down and she stabbed the scalpel into his throat. Blood spurted and she stepped back to avoid the spray.

Leaving him here would draw more attention than the blood alone, so the grabbed two fistfuls of his jacket and dragged him back into the room, closing the door behind her before crouching to strip his weapons.

From behind her, Bucky said, "Would it be totally inappropriate of me to mention that I found that. . ." He cleared his throat awkwardly.

The guard had a proper knife, in a sheath she could hook on her pants. She took that and started working off the strap of his assault rifle, which glowed blue. "Do you flirt with all the women you break out of prison with?" she asked, tossing a smile over her shoulder.

"You'd be the first," he replied, crouching down to help her.

The blue rifle was too bulky for him to handle one handed, so she took it. Fortunately, the guard had a mundane hand gun Bucky could use. "The stairs to the surface are to the left, at the end of a long hallway. We'll pass the armory if you want to try to get more."

"Ammo, at least. I can only carry so much."

She nodded. "I have my bag, as well." The leather satchel was the only thing she'd taken from home that had made it this long. It had an assortment of supplies in it and would be useful for any spare ammo or weapons they found. She dug it out from beneath her cot and slung it over her shoulder, then hefted the rifle. It was bulky and she almost thought she'd prefer to stick to the knife. Perhaps there'd be something more streamlined in the armory. "Ready when you are."

He grinned at her. "See ya on the other side, Doc."

It was impossible not to grin back. Now that they were here, at the point of no return, it was rather exciting. She stepped to the door and pulled it open. He checked the hall, one way and the other, before stepping out and heading left. She followed at his heels. She could see his face go blank, and the soldier settle over his features. He was still and precise as he leaned around the corner and took out two men with two head shots. She didn't doubt for a second he was good at his job.

She showed him the armory, where he picked up another handgun and spare clips. She traded her bulky gun for a smaller semi automatic. They filled her bag with as much extra ammo as she could comfortably carry before going back to the hall. They'd gone only a handful of steps before the sound of an explosion rumbled somewhere in the base.

"That's either very good or very bad," he called to her.

"Well, I'll press my thumbs it's the first," she replied. They crossed an opening where another hallway intersected theirs and she covered him with her rifle while he cleared ahead. "The stairs should be close."

"We going up or down?"

"I was brought down when I arrived here. I believe the surface and the motor pool is up. Down is labs and the dungeon."

He stopped and looked at her. "There's a dungeon?"

She frowned. "Obviously that wasn't the right word. It was dark. There were cage bars. Where they kept me before you."

"No," he said quietly, angrily. "That sounds like a dungeon." He turned and shot two Hydra soldiers who appeared at the end of the hall. Then he tucked the gun under his left armpit and changed the mag with surprising efficiency. 

"Would it be totally inappropriate of me to mention that I found that. . ." She gestured vaguely with one hand.

That made him smile again. "Not in the slightest."

For a moment, they just smiled at each other. Then she saw movement behind him and reached out and grabbed the front of his jacket. She yanked him closer to the wall and fired a short burst past him, taking down the soldiers that had turned the corner. "We need to keep going,"

"Right. Up the stairs." 

*

Zola had given up the location of the main Hydra base, deep underground in the Alps, as well as an outline of Schmidt's terrifying plans. They put together an attack plan as quickly has possible, and then there was just the waiting for logistics to get everything lined up. Time was of the essence, but all Steve's team could do was wait. 

The memorial was hard, and sad, and funny. He imagined all of them felt better know their vengeance was coming, if anyone felt like being dramatic. Dernier was that dramatic, and eventually so was Dugan once he got drunk enough. It was an _Irish_ wake.

Steve realized during it that it was actually the first time he'd held a woman's hand in public. Not that he was going to tell anyone that. No one commented or even seemed to notice them. 

"They probably think we've been doing this all along," she murmured to him that evening in the storage room, while he was busying himself taking off her clothes.

He had enough pride he wasn't going to correct them.

Once everything was in place, they were on a plane to the location Zola had given them. Equipment and ground troops were being moved into place. Phillips was even joining the assault himself. 

"You do remember how shoot, sir?" Steve asked during the long flight.

"Skinny end goes at the other guy, right?" It was said with good humor, at least. Somewhere along the way, he supposed the Colonel had warmed up to him.

"I think so," Steve replied. The airplane had begun its descent.

"Be careful going in there alone," Phillips said. "Or I'll never hear the end of it."

He very carefully didn't look at Peggy. "I'll do my best, sir."

From the staging camp, he was going one way, the commandos another, and the rest of the troops a third. Peggy was going with Phillips and the troops. Part of him wished she'd stayed in London where she'd be safe. But it was a selfish wish. This was All Hands on Deck. And the other part of him was glad she was there to watch his six, or be the last friendly face he saw, if it went that way.

She had to leave to get in position before he did. "I haven't gotten any better in the last week about things I should say to a woman," he told her.

Smiling, she touched his cheek and went up on her toes to kiss him. "I look forward to celebrating our victory together. Perhaps we could go dancing."

He grinned at her. "It's a date. Don't get shot."

"You neither." She patted his arm and turned away, hurrying to catch up with the rest of her team. He watched her go, and took a deep breath. Time to be a soldier.

Fighting his way through to the entrance, before he was captured as planned, was cathartic. He didn't realize how _much_ he really wanted to literally beat the shit out of some Hydra soldiers until he was in the middle of it. He didn't generally enjoy violence, but he had more anger buried down inside than he'd thought. And they made a great target.

Letting Schmidt punch him was less enjoyable, and he allowed himself a moment of fear between Schmidt raising the gun, and the sound of the line anchors hitting the rock face outside ahead of his team smashing through the windows. They were still, all of them, the best guys he'd ever known. 

He chased Schmidt when he ran, dispatching guards and soldiers they ran past. He was not going to be distracted. Then Schmidt ran through a set of steel doors, and Steve hurled his shield at him. Almost got him, too. But it did at least hold the doors open.

He heard footsteps to his left, and swung his gun around, ready to fire.

There, ragged and missing his left arm, stood his best friend.

*

"Bucky?"

He stared at Steve a moment, then broke into a grin Of course, who else would be blowing holes in Hydra's base? "Steve. You're ruining our daring escape."

Steve was rooted in his spot. "You fell 200 feet."

He sighed. "Yeah. It's a long story. The short version is that whatever Zola did to me last year made me sort of like you. I survived, they found me and Amanda patched me up." He became aware of Amanda's hand clutching a fistful of his jacket and he glanced back at her. "It's okay. It's my friend."

Steve peered around him. "Ma'am." Then he gave Bucky a look that involved both eyebrows.

"Shut up," he said.

Amanda's grip loosened and she stepped out from behind him. "Captain."

"This is Dr. Amanda Neuberg. Fellow prisoner," Bucky said. The look on Steve's face was priceless. Like he couldn't tell if he wanted to cry or laugh or punch someone.

Steve cleared his throat. "Steve Rogers, nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she said politely. He knew soldiers less unflappable than her. "If you are looking for the hangers you are going the wrong way."

"Zola was hazy on the layout. Where are they?"

"Two more turns that way-" She pointed down a side hall. "And there is an elevator, I think."

Before Steve could respond there was a clank from behind them and a Hydra soldier in a metal suit stepped into view. He had a flame thrower on each hand. Bucky had just enough time to shove Amanda forward, into a slight alcove in the wall, before the flames shot down the hall. Steve ducked back against the other wall, and they made eye contact over the flames. He noticed Steve didn't have his shield, he'd been throwing it after something when Bucky and Amanda had spilled into the hallway.

They had a silent, _Well, now what?_ conversation, and then machine gun fire rattled at the end of the hall, and flame thrower man dropped. Men in Allied uniforms began running down the hall, and the three of them emerged to see Peggy Carter coming around the corner with a big gun. Steve jogged forward and when he got close enough Bucky fought the urge to yell out, "Just kiss her already." Though they got in each other's space enough for a moment he wondered if he wouldn't need to.

"That would be his girlfriend?" Amanda asked from beside him. 

"Yep. And I think he might now be _aware_ that she's he's girlfriend. I should die more often."

He couldn't hear what Steve said to Peggy, but he did turn and point back towards Bucky, and her mouth fell open. He waved a little awkwardly and stumbled forward when Amanda nudged him. "Long story," he offered when they reached Steve and Peggy.

She continued to blink at him a moment, then looked at Steve. "Weren't you about to. . .?"

"Right." He glanced at Bucky. "I'm going after Schmidt."

"Good, I'm coming." He looked at Amanda. "Peggy, Amanda, Amanda, Peggy." He looked at Peggy. "She's on our side, despite the accent. Saved my life. Can kill people with really tiny scalpels." He looked back at Amanda. "Stay safe. I'll be back." 

Steve was looking at his missing arm, which he hadn't commented on yet. "Can you. . ."

"That's not my sword arm," he replied firmly, which seemed to be enough for Steve, as he started down the hall towards where his shield was wedged in a door. Bucky started after him, then stopped, and turned back. _He_ was not Steve.

Amanda opened her mouth to say something but he didn’t let her. He cupped his hand at the base of her neck and tilted her head to kiss her. "Just in case I'm not."

She blinked at him a moment, then dug in her pack and handed him his last two ammo clips. "Try your best," she said softly. "I don't think I would enjoy London without you. Let alone New York."

He grinned, and then jogged back towards Steve, who'd wrenched his shield from the door. As they ran down the hall, Steve said, "You picked up a girl. As a POW."

"What's that thing your mom used to say? God looks after drunks and good Irish boys."

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

The hangar, when they got there, was full of Allied and Hydra forces engaged in what looked like a full scale battle they began fighting their way through. On the other side of the battle, a gigantic plane was starting to roll. There was no way he could run as fast as Steve—all six of his leg bones had been broken a couple of days ago. He had a better idea, anyway. He turned and looked for the holder of the biggest looking Hydra gun that bore a scope, and put a bullet through the man's eye where there was no mask. He grabbed the gun, climbed up on one of the crates Steve had just leapt over that he could use to brace his new gun. Whatever the hell powered these weapons, they didn't need to be loaded or racked. 

Shooting from a tree was a little different than shooting literally in the middle of a battle, and he took a breath to steady himself for a moment. Then he peered through the scope. No way to get a clear shot of the landing gear, which would have been the best. The plane had eight propellors and two jet engines. Maybe he could slow it down. He had no idea the shot behavior or recoil of this sort of gun, so it took him 5 shots to hit one propellor, but then he had it. 

By that point Steve had stopped running, and Phillips and Peggy pulled up in what looked like Schmidt's car. Quick thinking, he'd give them that. 

He covered them as long as he could, until the disappeared out the hanger door back into the snow. Then he turned to help the allies clean up the last of the squids. As the fight wound down, he ran into Peggy and Phillips near the door where he'd come in. 

"Barnes," the Colonel said, "Are you a vampire?"

"Not as far as I know, sir."

"You 'die' again I'm not sending anymore telegrams until I see a body." He nodded at Bucky's arm. "You should get that scratch looked at."

"Already fixed up," he replied. He looked over at Peggy. "He get on the plane?"

He had not know someone could look both exasperated and proud at the same time until that moment. "Of course he got on the plane."

"Anybody found the radio room in this place yet?" Phillips asked the group at large.

Before any of them could answer, Morita's voice came over some sort of PA system, booming through the hangar. "Attention remaining Hydra Agents waiting for the bullet with your name on it. Your logo is wrong. Have _any_ of you noticed that?"

Bucky smirked and silently pointed to the ceiling.

"Shall we make our way up, then?" Peggy asked. "Steve will likely try to contact us once he's defeated Schmidt."

Bucky had to admire that kind of confidence in Steve. "What happened to Amanda?"

"She asked if we had any wounded. I sent her out to the front entrance where triage had been set up."

"You make a friend, Barnes?" Dugan asked as they left the hangar.

"Fellow prisoner. She's a doctor." He didn't mention her being German or working with Zola or anything of that nature. That was for later. "Took care of my arm."

"Sorry about that," Dugan replied. "Hey. You get to go home."

The thought didn't fill him with as much excitement at it normally would of. He doubted Steve was going home. Or any of the other guys. He contemplated Peggy as they piled into the elevator. Then again, maybe Steve would want to settle down.

It had been a long time since he'd considered that life he'd once expected. Building things like his Dad. He and Steve taking their sons to Dodgers games on a Saturday afternoon. Teaching them to play. Not that he could even swing a bat anymore.

He looked at the ceiling of the elevator. No, not thinking about that. Not today.


	6. Coming in on the Wing and a Prayer

The radio room overlooked the hangar. There was a pile of dead Hydra near the door, probably the ones removed from the room. Peggy noticed one of them was actually decapitated. 

"You cut off one of the heads?" Phillips asked of Jones and Morita, who had taken the room. They simultaneously pointed at each other. 

"Maybe we should have tried one of their limbs," Morita said. "Since it seems to be more of a. . ." He trailed off. "Barnes?"

"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

Morita continued to stare in shock, but Jones stepped forward and hugged his back-from-the-dead friend. It included several of those slaps on the back men seemed to enjoy so much.

"Good to see you, brother," Jones muttered.

"He owes us a bottle of bourbon," Dugan muttered. He looked at Barnes and said, "We drank the whole bottle my wife sent at your funeral."

"Isn't the fact I missed out on that punishment enough?"

Peggy sat at the radio console, listening to their banter with one ear. The waiting was always the worst. She couldn't discount the possibility that Steve would have to take the whole plane down—himself included—to stop Schmidt. But that was one of those things that was too painful to think about.

The radio room became their de facto headquarters. Troops came in with reports as the last of the Hydra soldiers surrendered. There were, apparently, dungeons in the lower levels and they had started to fill them up for lack of anywhere else to put them. Peggy found a sort of delightful symmetry in them being held in their own cages. Barnes went downstairs at one point to check on his doctor friend, and transport of the stable wounded out to the nearest field hospital began. They radioed the staging camp once they were sure they had everyone rounded up, so Stark could drive up to evaluate the Hydra tech the building was full of.

Mostly, they waited.

Then, the radio crackled to life. "Come in, this is Captain Rogers, do you read me?"

Later, she would be a little embarrassed at how she pretty much shoved Morita out of his chair before he could finish responding. "Steve? Is that you? Are you all right?"

"Peggy. Schmidt's dead."

She felt relief in every corner of her being. "What about the plane?"

He hesitated. "That's a little bit tougher to explain."

What did he mean by that? She took a breath. "Give me your coordinates, I'll find you a safe landing site."

More silence, before, "There's not going to be a safe landing, but I can try to force it down."

She felt a tinge of panic rise. "I'll get Howard on the line, he'll know what to do."

Behind her, Phillips picked up the mic for the PA system. "Stark, radio room right now. Run."

"At least half of this plane's engines are out," Steve was saying. "I'm not exactly a pilot."

She took a deep breath and focused on keeping her tone calm and upbeat. "Well, no one's perfect. Perhaps we can get you lessons." She took a breath and added. "Howard is on his way, just hold on."

"Seemed like Captain America should be able to fly a plane." He paused. "I don't really know where I am," he told her. "Somewhere over the arctic? It's on autopilot headed for New York. I can't shut it off."

"People land on ice." She'd seen or read that somewhere. "Think of the story it will make for the news reels."

"Peggy, I might have to put it in the water."

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. "Please. Don't. We have time. We can work it out."

"I just. . . I want to tell you . . ."

Before he could finish, Howard Stark crashed into the room, along with what looked like half the commandos. Including Barnes. Stark leaned over Peggy's shoulder. "Rogers. Where the hell are you?"

"The instrument panel is all shot up."

"Saints preserve me. Who shoots guns in a plane cockpit? Don't answer. Start on the top left, read me every dial that looks to be working." He reached across her to grab Morita's notepad. "Go."

Steve rattled off numbers and Howard scribbled them down. Peggy shifted to one side so he had more space, but stayed to listen as he talked Steve through overriding the auto pilot. When they ran into German labels that Jones didn't know, someone ran and fetched Barnes's doctor and she translated the German, occasionally having to confer with Jones for things she didn't know the English word for.

The room was very crowded as Steve began his descent into what would surely be a rough landing. 

Stark put his hand over the mic and looked at Peggy. "He's only got two engines on a plane that size. I don't know how good the odds are. It'll be more crash than landing, I don't know how survivable."

"I fell more than 200 feet," Barnes said from where he was standing behind them.

Stark turned. "Are you fireproof?"

"You know I can still hear you," Steve said over the radio.

Peggy glared at Stark, trying to think of something comforting to say, when the doctor piped up. "As long as his head and heart remain intact he should be capable of healing. Captain Rogers, if you're able, get into the snow. You will not be effected by the cold and it will help the serum sustain you."

"As long as you people come dig me up at some point." There was a stretch of silence, and then, "Peggy?"

She took the microphone from Stark. "I'm here. I'm here, Steve." Out the corner of her eye she saw Colonel Phillips catch Stark's arm and draw him away from the console. Barnes appeared to be shooing the others back as well.

They did it, she imagined, because he sounded scared. Or maybe only she knew him well enough to pick that up. "I might need a rain check on that dance."

She hated the tears that welled up at that. "All right." She swallowed and forced herself to breathe. "A week next Saturday. At the Stork Club."

The radio crackled. "You got it."

"Eight o'clock on the dot," she added, trying not to sniffle loud enough for him to hear. "Don't you dare be late. Understood?"

"You know, I still don't know how to dance."

She smiled a little, closing her eyes as the sudden rush of affection and - yes - love the words caused. "I'll show you how," she said softly. "Just be there." It came out like a plea.

"I will," replied. Then he said. "Here goes—" The radio cut off before he could finish the sentence. Then there was nothing but static.

"Steve? Steve?" Her voice cracked and she closed her eyes again, swallowing hard. It didn't mean anything, she told herself. Just because they lost the radio didn't mean anything.

A hand fell on her shoulder and squeezed. She could tell without looking it was Barnes. 

"We have a general idea where he is," Stark said. "Surveillance planes are already in the air."

"Ships in the region are being notified," Phillips added. "We'll find him." 

She nodded, reaching up to cover Barnes's hand and returned the squeeze. "I know," she said softly. "I know."

"These are long range transmitters," Phillips said. "And the sun is going down. We'll camp here tonight."

"I'll get some people to raid the mess," Jones said. "Make sure everyone gets fed."

Plans and arrangements were made around her, but Peggy didn't really hear it. She had no intention of leaving her post until there was word from the searchers. The room emptied as people found things to do. Eventually Barnes brought her food and sat next to her. "Got measles when I was ten," he said. "Miserable, itchy, just like everyone. Then I gave it to Steve. He has—well, had—bad lungs. He was so sick. I remember overhearing the doctor saying that you couldn't survive a fever that high. That he didn't know how he was even still alive. And I thought, Doc, you just don't know this kid. He'd face God himself with his fists up." 

She smiled, poking at the plate of food he had brought her. "Howard gave me your letter. I appreciated it."

"Such is the awkwardness of not really dying." He was quiet. "I know you mean a lot to him. He'd probably kill me for telling you this, but he keeps a picture of you in his compass."

"I know." She glanced at him and shook her head. "It was in a newsreel. The look Phillips gave me was mortifying." She cleared her throat and tried a bite of food. It was terrible, but she supposed better than nothing. "You may be happy to know that your death brought our unadmitted feelings for each other to a head."

That made him grin. "It's about fucking time."

"It was overdue," she conceded. "But quite lovely in its way." She shook her head again. "I'm sorry. He probably wouldn't want me to tell you. I'm sure he'd prefer to do his own bragging."

"He's not one to kiss and tell."

Of course he wouldn't. "Well, tell him he has my permission to do so, if he seems to want to. He's earned it."

"Nah. You talk about the dance hall girls and the Czechoslovakian prostitutes. You don't talk about your girl. Not the real one, the one you'd marry."

"Oh." She swallowed hard and put her plate down so she wipe at the tears that were threatening again. "No, I suppose you wouldn't."

"We'll get him back," Barnes said. "Fate's not that mean."

She wanted to believe that was true. "You certainly seem to have the devil's own luck. Perhaps some rubbed off on him."

"That is what I do. I keep Steve alive."

"You shot the engines out, didn't you? I thought I saw you when the Colonel and i were driving."

"Yeah. I thought it would help. Now I wonder. . ." he sighed. "Maybe he would have been able to land better."

She shook her head, remembering some of what Howard had said. "He would have been going too fast for us to even try to help him. He'd have had to put it in the water to save New York." She met his gaze. "You know he would have."

"Yeah," he conceded. "Hence—God, fists."

"Yes. I'm glad you're here. That he saw you. It will give him more to fight for, to come home to."

"Thanks," he said. He looked at her again. "If it went bad, the last voice he wanted to hear was yours."

If they kept this up she was going to cry again and she wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to stop. "I just hope he doesn't try to get out of that date."

"I can't hog tie him for you, he's bigger than me now."

Laughing felt good. It eased the ache in her chest. "I can handle him. But thank you."

Beside her, the radio crackled. "Captured Hydra base, this is SSR London, do you copy?"

She scrambled for the mic, clumsy in her eagerness. "This is base, we copy."

"We have word an Icelandic fishing vessel saw the plane go down, so we've got coordinates. The ship's crew don't speak any English, so we're trying to find someone who speaks Icelandic to get more information. But we've got a ship and two planes inbound to the location. We should know more in a few hours."

Peggy let out a long, slow breath. It wasn't over, they still needed to find him. But it was something. It was hope. "Thank you, London. Keep us posted."

"I'll go tell the others," Barnes said, squeezing her shoulder as he stood.

"Thank you, Sergeant. For the talk."

He smiled back. "Betcha it's not the last time we worry over him together."

"I sincerely hope not."

Peggy slept a little, out of sheer exhaustion, slumped over in the chair. She didn't know how long before the radio woke her again. "Hydra base, this is London." It was only after she sat up that she realized Colonel Phillips was sitting across from her, asleep face down in a book he must have been reading. She could see Barnes sitting on the floor dozing against the doorway. The floor, in fact, was full of sleeping Howling Commandos.

She reached for the mic. "London, any news?" The men stirred. Even Stark had come to sleep on the floor and wait it out.

"Rescue teams have located Captain Rogers. He was pretty well frozen, but medics report his heart is beating, and we received the instructions sent along from your doctor."

Peggy hadn't noticed if the woman was in the room, but she wouldn't be surprised if she was tucked in somewhere near Barnes. "That's wonderful news, London. Is the Captain on his way home?"

"They'll be transporting him here, they thought we'd be best equipped to treat any injuries he might have."

"Good." She would have found a way to make it to his side wherever he went. This made it easier. "We'll bug out in a few hours. Thank you, London."

They signed off, and behind her a cheer went up as the men began to celebrate. Peggy just leaned forward and put her head in her hands.

A hand patted her back and she looked up, expecting Barnes. But it was Colonel Phillips, giving her a rather unlike-him smile. "Atta girl."

She was very grateful she wasn't crying. She'd always loved the fact that, hard-ass though he could be, Phillips had always taken her seriously. That she'd kissed Steve in front of him had been a huge deal. She wasn't entirely sure what she was being praised for, but she said, "Thank you, sir."

He gave her another little almost paternal pat and turned to the group at large. "Up and at 'em boys. Let's go home."


	7. I Guess I'll Have to Dream the Rest

Amanda was certain there were a great many wonders to be seen in London. It was surely full of beautiful architecture, sweeping gardens and fine people. She would be sure to make time to see Big Ben and the London Bridge and anything else Bucky and his friends thought worth her time. But for tonight the most marvelous thing in the whole city was the fact it had functioning showers.

The flight in from Switzerland had been quiet and a bit tense. Everyone was exhausted from the fight and the long wait for news on Captain Rogers. She had felt awkward and out of place in the group, a stranger among obvious friends and comrades. Bucky had kept her close, however, and at some point she had dozed off on his shoulder, waking only when they had landed.

They had been greeted with celebration from the people still on base. Especially when they saw Bucky, long thought dead. The press and noise of the crowd had been overwhelming and she'd been grateful when Peggy pulled her away to show her the women's barracks.

After finding her an empty room, Peggy had handed her a regular issue towel and toiletries and shown her the communal baths and left in search of fresh clothes that might fit Amanda.

The water was uneven in pressure and the pipes rattled dangerously, but it was hot. Amanda had not had a hot shower in over a year, depending mostly on sponge baths out of a rusty sink for her attempts at keeping clean. This, this was heaven. She used half a bottle of shampoo and a significant hunk of the soap, going to far as to crouch and scrub between her toes and under her nails, but she emerged from the little stall clean for the first time in sixteen months.

She dried herself with the towel, idly wishing for a second one for her hair. She did her best, though, greatly looking forward to clean clothes made out of something other than poorly woven wool. Maybe even a skirt. She didn't recall the last time she'd worn one of those.

Heading for the door, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrors mounted over the bank of sinks on one wall. Moving closer, she wiped away some condensation and studied the stranger's face she saw in the reflected glass.

The scar was worse than she'd feared, though given her equipment and the circumstances she was lucky it had healed at all. She covered it with a hand to see if it helped, but it was no use. She was thinner than she had ever been, cheek and jaw bones prominent. She could give an anatomy lecture using her clavicle and ribs. She told herself a real bed and good meals would fix most of what she saw, but it was only half true. The girl who had been taken from her family's home in Austria was gone. In her place stood a woman. Thin and haggard, with a scarred face and shadowed eyes. 

Dropping her hand, she turned from the mirrors. Still, she couldn't look that bad, could she? Bucky had seen fit to kiss her. And he had smiled at her rather sweetly when she'd woken up on his shoulder. Of course, the kiss had been before he'd run off to battle and a smile was not a promise. Back in London, with who knows how many women willing to be at the side of even a one-armed hero, things would likely be quite different.

She shook her head sharply. Now was not the time for such thoughts. Clothes. A nap and food. She glanced back at the mirrors. Perhaps in the opposite order.

There was a polite tap on her door. "Dr. Neuberg?"

Fidgeting the towel a little tighter around her breasts she replied, "Yes, I'm out of the shower and as decent as possible."

Peggy opened the door. "I found you some clothes I think will fit. I'd lend you some of mine, but. . ." She trailed of. The other woman was quite a bit curvier.

Amanda held a hand out for the bundle. "Thank you. I assure you, at this point I'm not feeling particularly fussy."

"Everything is heavily rationed here. Clothes included. So I hope you didn't have your heart set on stockings."

She laughed. "Not at all. Though if there is a skirt in here-" She sorted through the clothes and found their was, indeed a plain black skirt as well as a pair of plain but very soft drawers. "Ah," she said softly. "Proper underthings. Such luxury." She turned her back to Peggy and used the towel for a bit of modesty as she dressed.

Peggy turned as well, out of politeness. "How long were you there?"

"Sixteen months, more or less. In the adventure stories they always know exactly how long it was, down to the day. But it was hard to keep track sometimes." The brasserie was perhaps more support that she needed, but the blouse fit nicely. She fluffed her hair with a towel. "And I was moved too much to keep tally on the walls."

"Barnes told us just a bit of your history." She paused. "Thank you for saving his life."

"It was the least I could do." Her hair was too damp to style, but if she put it in yet another bun it might start falling out in protest. Amanda drew it over her shoulder to braid it, turning back to Peggy. "I'm decent."

She turned around. "You can handle yourself in a fight." It was a statement, not a question.

"I have always been a fighter. Eventually my father decided it was easier to show me how to do it properly."

"We have Dr. Zola in a cell downstairs. If you'd like to go down and punch him in the face, I can arrange that."

Amanda paused in the middle of tying off her braid. "I suppose a bullet to the head is out of the question?"

Peggy sighed. "Governments find him of value."

Of course they did. She folded her towel for lack of anything better to do with her hands. "Then I suppose a good punch will have to do. Though I may wear a glove so as not to touch him."

"Dugan has a billy club," she replied.

That surprised a small laugh out of her. "Bucky said we would get along. I think he was right."

The other woman's smile was wide. "How about we find you some food first?"

"That would be wonderful." She followed her out of the room. "And do not bother apologizing for it being rations. You have no idea what I've eaten."

"It isn't," she said. "Not exactly. I believe Barnes pulled some strings."

Amanda felt her brow wrinkle. Pulled strings. . . She didn't have the energy to press. Perhaps when things were calm Bucky would agree to write down all the idioms he could think of and explain them to her. For now, she followed Peggy out of the barracks and across the yard. There had been no shoes with the clothing, so she'd put her beat up boots back on. They looked ridiculous with her skirt and blouse, but she had actually grown rather fond of them.

Peggy led her into the mess, where she was surprised to find Bucky waiting. He was sitting at one of the tables, a tray across from him. She actually stopped walking. Was that meat? And _fruit_?

"Go on," Peggy said softly.

The words were enough to get her moving again, though she couldn't stop staring at the food. She stopped at the end of the tabled and finally managed to get her voice to work. "What- how?"

"People like me," he said with a grin.

"I-" She sank into her seat and the smell of the meat hit her. Her mouth was actually watering. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Don't eat so fast you make yourself sick," he replied.

She gave him a pointed look, but picked up the knife and fork and dug into the steak. Speech was impossible for the first few bites. It was not even remotely the best steak she'd ever had. But it was real meat and cooked perfectly. And the fruit was juicy and sweet and seemed to melt on her tongue.

After the immediate hunger was settled she paused to sip her water. "Have you eaten?"

"I had some of whatever slop they were serving. It was food."

She studied him a moment. Then she cut off a bite of steak and held it across the table for him.

He looked at it longingly. "That's yours. I wanted you to have it."

"And I am sharing." She waggled the fork at him. "I insist." He took the bite, finally, and then he closed his eyes and groaned. It was a sound that made her think of. . . all sorts of inappropriate things.

Heat curled in her belly, surprisingly intense. She had to take a steadying breath before turning back to the meal. "It's funny. I know the fruit must be canned. But it tastes as good as the grapes my sister and I used to steal from the local vines." She popped a piece in her mouth to confirm it.

"Stark sometimes has food flown in from the US. He's that rich."

"Is that where this came from?"

"Yes. He thought I needed a proper welcome back to the land of the living."

She froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. "This is yours. Bucky-"

He gave her a stern look. "Eat. You saved my life. And they kept you in a dungeon."

Everything in her wanted to push the food over to him and insist he eat his own welcome home meal. But she felt she knew him enough to know he wouldn't do it, and would likely be a bit offended at the suggestion. And then they would probably sit here glaring at each other as it grew cold. So she ate the bite that was on her fork, but offered him the next one. "I may have saved your life, but I would not have been able to escape without your help. Please."

He smiled at her, and took the bite.

They are the rest of the meal that way, with her offering him bite between her own. In the end it was probably for the best, her stomach wasn't used to so much food and she wouldn't have been able to finish it alone.

When the plate was clean she wiped her mouth and sipped her water. She rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand, feeling fatigue creep up on her. "It doesn't feel real," she admitted. "I fear that if I fall asleep I will wake up to find myself back there."

"Still happens to me," he said. "From Azzano."

It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize again but she bit it back. He had said they were square and she must trust that. "That was a bad place. It haunts me, as well." She summoned a smile. "Of course, I may have trouble sleeping anyway. I've grown used to your snoring."

"I'd come keep you company, but I think that might be frowned upon."

Her cheeks heated a little when she realized the implications of what she'd said. "Yes. I imagine it would be."

"I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I meant absolutely nothing disrespectful by that. I was't implying. . ."

"I know, I know. It's all right." She rubbed her eyes again. "I'm sorry. I think I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. A great deal has happened and if I think about it too long. . ." She shrugged and smiled a little. "You are the only familiar thing."

He reached across the table, closing his hand over hers. "I don't mind if you hold on."

She covered his hand with her, sandwiching it between the two. "Thank you," she said quietly. 

"You have to stick around," he said. "Who's going to tie my shoes?"

He never failed to make her smile. "Well. It's good I'll be useful."

*

There were airplane engines.

The last thing Steve remembered was the sound of engines, and now they were roaring again as he woke up. These were different, he though. He wasn't still on the Valkyrie. Something had been in between. It had been unbearably hot, then unbearably cold.

He opened his eyes and lifted one hand to look at it. The skin was red and peeling. 

"Captain Rogers!" A pretty nurse bustled over. She was in a flight suit, and he realized he was strapped to a gurney in the back of a plane. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

Alive. He was alive. "Does the rest of me look like my hands?"

She hesitated a moment, then admitted, "Most of you. But you're healing," she added quickly. "Even since we've found you I can see improvement."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the SSR base in London. They have a doctor there who knows about your serum, and proper facilities to treat you." She glanced up to the front of the plane. "ETA is about twenty more minutes."

He closed his eyes again. "Well timed."

"Are you in any pain? I can increase the morphine."

"No," he said. "I'm fine. I just have a date."

The nurse sounded very far away when she said, "Well, maybe she'll take a rain check."

"Would be the second one in a row," he murmured as he drifted off again.

When he woke again it was quiet. No engines, just the soft shuffle of footsteps and the faint beep and hum of machines. The bed beneath him was far more comfortable, too. He opened his eyes to find himself in what looked like a hospital, white curtains drawn around him for privacy. To his left was a chair. In the chair Peggy sat slumped, asleep sitting up.

He didn't entirely trust his voice, so he reached his hand out—still peeling, but better looking—and touched her knee. She startled a little and sat up, opening her eyes. When she saw him awake she smiled widely. "Hello there."

"Hi," he said softly. "I seem to be alive."

"So it would seem." She shifted and took his hand gingerly in both of hers. "Are you in pain?"

He smiled at her. "Do I look that bad?"

"You look better than you did when you arrived, to be honest. Amanda assured me it looked worse that it was but -" She gave a soft smiled. "It's good to hear your voice."

"Turns out I might be fireproof. Sort of."

She laughed at that, which he figured was a good sign. "Sort of seems to be sufficient. Though let's not make a habit of this."

"I'm also, I think, a little bit of a coward."

"No, Steve, why would you say that?"

He turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. He rubbed his thumb over hers. "I really didn't want to die without telling you how I felt about you. Then I realized you had an audience, and I chickened out."

She squeezed his hand. "It's all right. I- I knew. And I think it would have upset me more. To feel so much like goodbye."

"It almost was."

"Oh, I had faith in you. In fate. So did Barnes, actually. He was very comforting while we waited for word." She reached out and stroked his hair. "It was not time for your story to end."

He reached up and held her hand against his face. "I don't care about my story. It's owned by everyone but me."

"Our story, then," she said. "I expect many more chapters, just for us. And anyone we chose to let in."

That sounded a little bit like Paradise to him. "I love you."

She smiled and he saw tears in her eyes. "Oh Steve. . . I love you, too."

He tugged on her hand. "If you knew, why are you weepy?"

"It's just nice to hear," she said. "It's been a very long few days."

"Come here," he said. "Lay down with me."

She hesitated a moment, but he thought it was more out of concern for his comfort than embarrassment. "You're certain?"

He tugged her hand again. "Yes. I want to hold you."

That seemed to settle it for her and she reached down to tug her shoes off and climb into the bed with him. She settled her head on his shoulder and tucked an arm around him. His shoulders were sore, but he wrapped both arms around her. He pressed his face in her hair and inhaled her scent. "I remember the first time I saw you. You punched Hodge in the face for being a smart-ass."

"Ah, yes. Such a pleasant memory."

"I remember thinking, that's the kind of girl I want."

Her fingers traced little patterns on his chest. "I thought you were very sweet, even if you didn't know how to talk to women. I could see what Erskine saw in you."

"He said the serum amplifies everything you are. Good becomes great, bad becomes worse. So what he wanted, most of all, was a good man."

"And he succeeded." She shifted and looked at him. "You were and are a wonderful man. I would have loved you without the serum."

"I believe you," he said, and he actually did. "Though I'd never have believed I deserved you."

She gave him a little squeeze, cuddling closer. "I would have enjoyed trying to convince you."

"I think I'd have left you a young widow."

That gave her pause. Then she said softly, "We'd have been happy, though. Think of the bullies we could have beaten."

"Probably. But I'll take this version of life. Where I don't die of influenza and am strong enough to pin you to the wall."

She gave a throaty laugh that sent heat through him despite his injuries. "Well. Yes."

And now he was thinking about sex. She was pressed up against him. "It's kind of too bad. This is the most comfortable bed I've laid on in years."

Another laugh. "Things are rather calm right now. I fully intend to drag you to whatever passes for a hotel and have my way with you once you're well."

"People might talk," he commented.

"Oh, let them. We just won a war."

He chuckled. "Did Germany surrender while I was out?"

"Not precisely. But Allied troops did enter Germany and the rumor is surrender is imminent."

"When it is, we will celebrate in the fanciest hotel in London." He bent his head and kissed her temple. "We'll lock the door and not come out for days."

She sighed deeply. "I look forward to that. Perhaps I'll hoard my ration cards and find something seductive to wear."

"I will hoard my government-issued prophylactics."

"Wonderful." She paused. "I may speak to Amanda to see if there are other. . . options."

"She would know better than I would," he said. He rubbed her back for a moment. "You do know that if there were any, er, surprises I would _absolutely_ —"

"I know," she said quietly, patting his chest lightly. "But my career would be over. And I just. . . right now that's very important to me."

He would want a family one day—the one he'd longed for as a child. But he imagined they'd have plenty of time. "I understand. I just wanted to make sure you knew."

"I do appreciate it. And if there was a surprise I assure you I would adore him or her." She kissed his shoulder. "I want children."

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "So do I."

"I suppose we should start having those sort of conversations. Planning for the future."

He found himself looking at his burned hands. "I don't think I've thought about the future since before the war."

"Neither have I, to be honest." Her voice was quiet. "It's hard to plan with that much uncertainty. So much loss. But now with the light at the end of the tunnel." He felt her shrug. "I find the idea of a future very appealing."

It was. "Our chapters."

"Exactly. Filled with love and friends. And family."

He didn't know if it would be that simple, but he loved the idea. And he loved her. So he closed his eyes. "Will you you lay with me for a bit?"

She gave him a squeeze. "As long as you like."


	8. Wishing Will Make it So

Allied troops were marching across Germany, and it was pretty obvious that victory was imminent. Hydra, as it turned out, had a little bit of truth to its many-heads motto. There were still cells scattered about Europe, popping up and making trouble for the regular soldiers. It was pretty obvious the Howling Commandos would be going back out for some clean up. It was just as obvious that Bucky would not be going with them.

That would have required two arms.

No one was saying it, at least not to his face. But he was waiting for the orders home to come through. His mother would be thrilled. But he honestly couldn't imagine going home. Not when Steve and his friends were staying. Not when Amanda's future was uncertain and she still looked like a spooked cat in crowded rooms.

This had probably been what Steve had felt when Bucky had shipped off. The helpless, angry sense of being left behind. Unnecessary. He was starting to understand why he'd lied to all those recruitment offices.

There didn't seem to be any way he could lie his way around this. He'd managed to fight with one arm, but he struggled with basic tasks like getting dressed in the morning. Still, he managed, he made plenty of jokes about it, presenting a face to all the world he was fine. He wasn't, though. Not even close. And some days, the future seemed more hopeless than he could stand to think about.

He was sitting in the mess between meals, trying not to look like he was brooding. Steve and the guys were in a briefing about the latest Hydra cell to get on the radar. He'd seen Amanda briefly in the morning, but she spent most of her days in the labs with the other white coats and he tried not to bother her. It was better if she found a place here.  
 Howard Stark dropped into the chair across from him. "So we've been talking about your arm."

Bucky looked up, not in the mood for Stark. "Did you just notice one is missing?"

"You know, it caught my attention earlier, but I had other things on my plate. But now we've got some plans for you to look at before I start making prototypes."

"Prototypes of what?"

"A new arm," Howard said, like it would be obvious.

Bucky stared back at him. "You're making me a new arm?"

"Yes." Obviously reading the surprise and confusion on his face, Howard sighed. "Right. So, a few days ago Rogers and your girl come to me and say you don't want your medical discharge, you want to go off hunting squids with the rest of the boys. I get it, I'm not here for the weather. I'm more in the business of blowing limbs off than building them, but your girl draws a pretty good anatomy model when she wants to so I get to work. With her hovering over my shoulder I might add." He grinned a little. "You better watch her, friend. She curses like a sailor in a language I don't understand, but the message is pretty clear. Mean right jab, too."

He was mortified by the lump in his throat. It took him a moment to speak—then he processed the last thing he'd said. "Wait. Did you hit on her?"

Howard had the good sense to freeze in fear. "I might have made a slightly off color joke about anatomy lessons. Purely in jest, of course," he added, hands in a surrender gesture.

He sighed. "Well. I'm not entirely sure if she's actually my girl or not. The circumstances have been a little odd."

Howard shrugged. "I refused to give Rogers advice, I'm certainly not going to give you any. Except, obviously, to watch for that right jab."

Bucky looked up at him. "I would love a new arm," he said quietly.

"Good. Come to my lab this afternoon, check out the plans. Once we have your input I can whip up some prototypes and get on with this."

"I will." He paused. " _Thank_ you."

Howard held up his hands again, standing, looking oddly embarrassed. "Don't thank me, I love a new challenge. It was Rogers and the Doc that thought of it."

That made him smile. "I'll thank them, too."

"Right. I'll see you later." Howard strolled out of the mess, hands in his pockets, checking out a secretary's ass on his way.

Steve was still in the briefing, so he got up and went in search of Amanda.

There was a building connected to the hospital that was just medical labs. It's where they studied Steve's blood and any of the Hydra tech that Stark couldn't make head or tails of. Amanda had been spending most of her days there, going over the Project Rebirth research and helping fill in the gaps. He found her in one of the smaller rooms, paperwork spread out in front of her. 

She'd taken to wearing her hair in a long braid rather that the severe buns she'd had when they'd been prisoners. He rather liked it, it made her look younger, as had the handful of pounds she'd put on since arriving. If he was being honest he sometimes pictured wrapping that braid around his hand to hold her for a kiss - or something more. He tried not to think about that too much. Currently there were two pencils stuck in the top of the plait and he wondered if she remembered they were there or just kept putting them back there and wondered where all her writing implements went.

Before he could get her attention she picked up the cup of tea at her elbow and sipped, then made an adorably disgusted face and put it back down.

"Not a fan of British tea?" he asked.

She jumped and turned to look at him. "No, actually, it's quite good. It's just gone cold." With a stretch, she turned completely to face him. "Hello."

"I hear you've been talking to Mr. Stark."

Her cheeks pinked a bit and she fidgeted the hem of her skirt. "We've had some conversations." She wrinkled her nose. "You said he was charming. Does that mean something different here?"

"Beats me. It seems to work. He's had public affairs with movie stars."

"Well, I suppose ones tastes are ones own."

"You have only grown in my esteem now."

That made her smile. "He told you of our plans, I presume?"

He came and sat across from her. "He told me you and Steve were conspiring."

"Steve came to ask me if you had said anything to me. About your arm." She nodded at his pinned up sleeve. "I told him you had joked about it briefly when recovering but not since. He said you had joked about it with him as well, and that it probably meant you were upset about it and hiding it. He wanted my opinion on whether an artificial limb would be feasible. And the next thing I knew I was teaching Mr. Stark how muscles work."

He bent his head. "People seem to want me to talk about it. But I don't know what to say."

"It's a hard thing," she said softly, but not in the overly sympathetic way the others seemed to. "I have the sense you were active and. . ." Her mouth twisted the way it did when she was hunting for a word. " _Forscht_. Alive. Forceful. And to be that way and lose part of yourself - I can see having trouble looking beyond it." There was a pause. "It will not be the same as a real arm. You will not have _Sinneseindruck_ \- touch. You will not know if something it soft or hard or hot or cold. But you should be able to move the fingers. To grip, to climb. Continue fighting with your friends, if you choose."

"And I could work? After the war? And. . .tie my shoes?"

She smiled. "Yes. The fine motor has been the hardest part but Stark is. . . quite brilliant. We will need to do another surgery so that I can attach anchors to your muscles. They will attach to the arm and allow you control. It will require practice and some adjustment in how you move, what messages you send to those muscles. But the body and mind are remarkable things. I have faith you will be more than capable of work and self care."

"I still feel it," he said after a moment. "I still reach for things, try to scratch itches. . . would be nice to look down and see something there."

"It will likely be metal for now. Putting false skin on it for you to go fight would be a waste. If you wanted one afterwards in your civilian life, that would be another conversation."

"I imagine it would look quite fake. The fake skin."

"Yes. It would be latex or rubber. The metal might actually be less jarring."

"Maybe it'll make me look tough."

"It would be eye catching," she said with an oddly sly smile. "Women might be attracted by it. Like a bird with bright plumage."

"I'll give Stark a run for his money."

She blew out a breath. "Someone needs to make me an American sayings list. Between you and Stark I'm lost."

"Sorry. It was a joke, anyway. About women flocking to me."

"I'm told you were popular with women. Back home." It was hard to tell with her accent, but it sounded like she was doing that false casual thing girls did when they were feeling you out.

"Well. Yes. But not. . . not like Stark. In volume, intent, or behavior."

She nodded slowly. "Steve said you would find him girls. Before he was-" She puffed up a bit, gesturing to indicate how big he was now.

That made Bucky laugh. "I thought if he got some practice he wouldn't be so damn awkward. And if they talked to him they might see how great a guy he was."

"I don't know that he's any less awkward. But he and Peggy seem very happy. They're a good match."

"I think I'm starting to figure that out. Maybe people don't need to be a certain way. You just need to find someone that fits."

"That's what my mother used to say." She started rearranging her papers, stacking them and sorting them. She liked to do things with her hands when she talked, he'd noticed. "She had a tea set that sat in a lovely wooden box. Her mother bought it for her for her wedding. At some point the creamer broke. I recall she spent many years searching for a replacement. Finally, when I was twelve or so, she found one in an old second hand shop. It was silver, with an etched pattern of flowers and did not match the delicate china of the rest of the set. But it fit perfectly in the empty spot in the box. She said marriage was the same. The perfect man did not exist. But the man who fit you perfectly did."

"Did you ever find him?" he found himself asking.

"My creamer pitcher, so to say?" She smiled sadly and shook her head. "No. Though I suppose you could say I didn't look. I was busy. School, becoming a doctor. It was a drive and I felt a man would get in the way. And then Erskine hired me and the war." He watched her swallow. "I suppose I always thought I had time. I said it to my mother a few days before. . ." She took a break and clenched her jaw. "'I'm young,' I said. 'Men wait years. Why can't I? Marie Curie was twenty eight when she married.'"

"Do you. . . _want_ to wait more years?"

She glanced at him, then away quickly. "No. . . though I suppose I haven't given it much thought. With the war I imagine men will have their choice of women. Not many would choose a scarred up 'Kraut' who's too smart for her own good."

He didn't know why he suddenly felt nervous. Well, maybe he did. "I would."

Her hands stopped and flattened on the table. She cleared her throat a couple of times. "I had assumed the kiss was an anomaly."

Bucky swallowed. "I s'pose when we were there I felt like a soldier. Like a hero. Then we came back here and I realized I was an invalid."

"It seemed a bit like a promise. Of more. And then when you didn't pursue it. . . well men do all manner of things when they think they might die."

"I didn't—that's not why—" He sighed. "I've really mucked this up."

"No, no you haven't. I just." She shook her head and gave him a shy smile. "I'm as good with men as Steve is with women. I never know what to say and I always. . . oh, what is that phrase Howard used? Put my fist in my mouth?" Another head shake. "I may need you to help me. Now that Steve no longer requires your assistance."

"I'd like to take you to dinner," he said. "Maybe dancing. Maybe kiss you goodnight."

"I think I would enjoy all of those things," she said shyly.

"Good," he said with a grin. "Saturday?"

"I look forward to it."

Now he couldn't stop smiling. "We're meeting this afternoon about the arm."

She glanced down at her paper work, then back at him. "Perhaps we could walk over together."

"I would love that."

She gave him that brilliant, breath taking smile he saw so rarely. "Lovely. I'll see you then?"

He wanted to kiss her again. But maybe this wasn't the place. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"I'll be waiting," she said quietly.


	9. Rumors Are Flying

Peggy was fairly certain Steve's injuries would have been fatal, and his burns permanent scars, if not for the serum. All the SSR—or Hydra, for that matter—had ever seen in the serum was enhanced strength, enhanced fighting ability. They wanted the ultimate soldier. But the war was going to end soon, so maybe the healing angle was something people would begin paying attention to.

Amanda certainly seemed most interested in that aspect. She'd been supervising Steve’s recovery, and Peggy had noticed he'd been far more cooperative with her on detailed questions and samples and exams than she'd seen him be with the military doctors. Steve seemed to trust her, and Peggy liked her, which is why she was willing to go ask what might be a rather revealing and personal question.

She had acquired a small room in the science wing off the hospital. None of the other scientists had anything resembling an office, except Howard, of course. Peggy wondered how Amanda had managed it. Perhaps the other lab coats had a healthy fear of her.

Amanda looked up when she entered and smiled. "Hello. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Folding her hands over her middle, Peggy came in and sat in the extra chair she had in there. "I was curious how much access or assistance you might have with methods of contraception."

The other woman tilted her head. "You know that . . . woman things is not my specialty?"

She sighed. "I do. But I can't ask the military doctors. And civilian doctors won't even tolerate the topic from an unmarried woman. Go home and cross your legs."

"Indeed." She shifted in her seat. "You are not the first woman to be pleased there is a female doctor on base. There are devices that you can place inside. It blocks the sperm from reaching the destination."

"Yes. But getting one is a problem." She shook her head. "They give the men condoms by the bucketload."

"I can obtain one. I had. . . been considering getting one of my own."

That made Peggy smile. "You should. The condoms are a _pain_." She looked at the other woman for a moment. "I apologize if this is a little forward. . . are you currently. . .?"

Amanda's cheeks were pink and growing darker, but she answered in an even tone. "No. In fact, as long as we're being forward, I have never. . ."

"Ah." She smiled. "It's not as scary as it might seem in your head. Assuming the gentleman in question cares about your enjoyment and you both can communicate."

"The first I am not concerned about. The second. . . I'm not fluent in English. I lose it when distracted or upset, as Howard will attest. It should be interesting." She offered Peggy a wide smile. "I appreciate the reassurance, though. My mother was not particularly forthcoming about such things."

"I am happy to tell you anything you like about that angle." She cleared her throat. "To that end, actually. . . if you do use the condoms, have several." 

The doctor's mouth opened and closed a few times. Peggy found herself grateful that, despite her innocence, she seemed to understand her implications. Finally she managed an impressed, " _Really_?"

"Mmm. Consistently. We think it's the serum. I suppose you'll be able to confirm that." 

"Fascinating." She paused and smirked. "I probably shouldn't tell him I want to sleep with him for scientific purposes."

Peggy laughed. "Just don't make notes about it. Steve feels very strongly about Howard not knowing about this particular side effect."

"I imagine there would be a great deal of teasing."

"I believe it more a concern about Howard becoming obsessed with creating a formula just for that purpose."

Amanda laughed out loud at that. "Oh. He would, too."

"I appreciate your help. I'm going with the team on their next mission. I don't expect we'll have much privacy, but perhaps when I'm back. . ."

"I need to do an exam, so I can gauge size. A good fit is very important. But yes, once that's done it should only be a week or two."

She thanked her again, and stood. At the doorway she turned back, and said, "It's nice to have another woman here who's not a secretary."

She smiled again. "You're welcome to come visit any time. And I may have questions. About. . . men."

"I'm happy to answer them as best I can."

"I will appreciate any help, thank you."

The mission briefing wasn't nearly as interesting as her conversation with Amanda had been. They were just chasing pockets of holdouts now. But Steve had been declared well enough to get back into the field, so everyone was eager. His skin still looked a little like he was recovering from an extended vacation in the tropics, but she was happy his hair had grown back. Unfortunately, someone had actually filled the storage room with boxes, and they hadn't been able to find much privacy. She missed him.

She had her exam with Amanda the day before leaving. The doctor promised to have the diaphragm waiting when she returned. She also handed Peggy a fistful of condoms. The packets went into her duffle bag in case they found privacy on mission.

It was kind of nice to have a lady friend. 

The mission was not nice. It involved camping outside in the cold and damp in Estonia. The first night they kept to standard mission parameters. The second night Steve showed up in her tent, informed her she didn't have enough body mass for the cold, and everyone knew anyway. They had about five layers of clothing between them, but it was nice to lay with her head on his chest and make jokes about if it got any colder, the boys would start doubling up, too.

Routing out the small cache of Hydra soldiers was rather satisfying, not only because it meant they could head back to the relatively balmy shores of England.

When she gat back to her room there was a small wrapped package on her bed. The attached note was in tiny, precise, spiky hand writing.

_Peggy_

_Enclosed is the item previously discussed. Instructions included. Feel free to contact me with questions or concerns._

_Welcome home._

_-Amanda_

She grinned. "Welcome home, indeed." Now she just needed to get those boxes out of their rendezvous closet. Or convince Steve they should sneak between the barracks.

They had an hour to settle in before debrief. The shower warmed her up nicely and she was looking forward to sleeping indoors in a bed, even if it was an army cot.

Thats is until Steve caught her arm on the way out of the debrief room. "Hello, Captain," she said with a smile.

"Agent," he said. "Did you have plans this evening?"

"They primarily involve not sleeping on the ground."

"I might have something to help with that." He leaned down and spoke softly. "Pack an overnight bag and meet me at the motor pool."

She turned and looked at him, and both eyebrows went up. "Yes, sir."

He grinned, though she swore he was blushing.

Half an hour later she was at the motor pool, as requested, a well stocked bag slung on her arm. Steve had apparently requisitioned a jeep. She raised an eyebrow at him as she climbed in. "Are we having a mission?"

"The guys got us a present."

"What sort of present?"

He cleared his throat, and from the somewhat embarrassed look on his face she wondered if this was a rather off color present. Boys at war could be juvenile. "A hotel room," he said.

Her jaw dropped open a moment and she stared at him. "Really?"

"There was some ribbing about 'celebrating' my return to duty. I ended up telling them to shut up because privacy wasn't exactly abundant. They roped in Stark and his checkbook. . ." he glanced over at her. "You're not offended, are you?"

Well, she wasn't exactly _thrilled_ the commandos were discussing her sex life, she was hardly going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "No, not at all. Always happy to spend Howard's money."

"A bed just sounds. . . really nice."

"Yes, it does." She sighed and said softly, "I've missed you." 

That made him smile, and he took his hand off the gearshift long enough to squeeze hers. "Me too."

He pulled up in front of what she knew to be one of the fanciest hotels in London. He handed her a key with a silver keychain engraved with a room number. "I'm going to come in from the back entrance, I don't want to be recognized and us end up in the gossip pages."

She nodded, closing her fist around the key. "I will see you upstairs," she told him, grabbing her bag. She was glad she'd chosen her personal satchel and not an Army issue. No one gave her a second glance as she headed inside.

The lobby was wide and elegantly appointed. She went up the sweeping staircase to the room number indicated on the key. Once there, she dropped her bag, rummaged until she found the little box and ducked into the powder room to get ready. The diaphragm required some contortions to get in place, making her wish she'd had time to test it previously. She was still in there when she heard the door open and close. "That's the biggest bed I've ever seen in person," Steve said from out in the main room.

She laughed, which did nothing to help with her current predicament. "The bathtub is equally grandiose."

Peggy could almost hear him thinking about that. "I think that might have to wait until a time when we don't care about surprises."

There, that felt secure. She put her leg down and paced a little. When nothing felt odd or fell out she felt confident enough to return to the main room. "About that. I have my own surprise."

He turned around, his mouth open. "What? And you went to Estonia?"

She waved her hands. "No! Nononono. I would have told you. I was going to say. . . we don't need the condoms tonight. I have my own prophylactic."

He blinked. "How does that work?" He held up a hand. "No. Don't tell me. I don't think I need to know."

"Yes." She crossed to him, sliding her arms around his waist. "I don't think a discussion of female anatomy will improve our evening."

With a grin, he kissed her. "I do _like_ your anatomy."

"I admit I'm rather fond of yours, too," she murmured. Her hands started tugging his shirt out of his slacks, so she could find skin. He undid his shirt buttons, and the moment he slid it off his arms she was pushing his undershirt up. He lifted his arms so she could get it off. 

His skin still had patches of red here and there. But considering what he had looked like when they had brought him home it was nothing short of miraculous. She smoothed her hands over the hard planes of his chest, bending forward to kiss the skin. He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling out the pins. "Sometimes I can't believe this is real," he whispered.

She tipped her head back to look at him. "Which part? Because if it helps sex usually isn't quite this good all the time."

He shrugged. "I'm not dead. And you're mine."

Her face softened and she stretched up to kiss him. "I am yours. Now and forever."

The kiss went on while he undid her buttons. He'd gotten pretty deft at that pretty quickly. He could unhook her brassiere without looking, too. That first night, she'd been willing to spend as much time as needed to teach him how to touch her. He'd figured it out with astonishing speed—and then gone on to exceed all her previous experience. Enhanced learning abilities had been on the serum's effect list. The use she'd made of it had never occurred to her.

She let the brassiere slide down her arms and he flattened his hands on her skin, stroking her. He cupped and shaped her breasts, the nipples tightening against his palms. She couldn't help the little groan that caused. It had been so long and, well, he'd said he liked her noises. He let go to unzip her skirt and push it and her slip down. Her drawers followed, and then he backed her up slowly. "Sit," he whispered.

The bed was incredibly soft beneath her and she sighed. She would certainly sleep well. If he let her sleep, that was. He kissed her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone. They could never take their time in the storage room, and even in the bomb shelter it had been too cold to linger. Too cold to do what he was doing now, which seemed to be kissing every inch of her. 

Pleasure built inside her, heating her skin till it felt tight and over sensitive. She speared her fingers through his hair and murmured his name. As he moved lower she was forced to release him and lean back, braced on her elbows. He gave both breasts careful, loving attention before moving lower. The muscles in her stomach tightened and twitched as he kissed over them.

She made a little noise of anticipation when he pushed her knees apart. Of all the things that had surprised her about that first night, this had been the most. That'd he'd done it and that he'd been so good at it she'd seen stars. Enhanced learning, indeed.

HIs mouth found her center and she let her head fall back with a throaty moan. There was no reason to be quiet here. He made her feel incredible and she thanked the heavens that she had found him. That they had survived all the things thrown at them to find themselves here, together. Then he found her clitoris with his tongue and such deep, existential thoughts were quite beyond her.

She just felt. Everything else turned off, and she begged and cried out when it got more and more intense. When she finally broke it actually made her scream.

When she came back to herself Steve was on the bed with her, stroking her hair gently. He looked slightly concerned - she didn't think she'd come that hard in front of him before, if ever - but returned her smile when she managed one. She lifted a hand and drew him down for a kiss. "Thank you, darling."

He chuckled. "I think people probably heard you two floors up."

"And I imagine they're quite jealous now."

"Hell, I'm jealous and I got to watch."

She kissed him again, hand wandering down to fiddle with the button of his fly. "I'd be happy to return the favor."

He grinned. "I'm not sure I can actually make sounds in that register. . ."

The button slid free and she pinched his stomach as best she could. There wasn't much flesh to pinch up, truth be told. "You know what I meant."

He watched her hand. "You know, I don't do it as a favor, I do it because it's fun."

She worked his fly open, making sure to brush her hand against the front of his underthings as much as possible. "Some men only do it with the expectation of reciprocation." The pants were loose enough to shove down and she slid her hand into the waistband of his boxers. "But I know you don't. I simply want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

His eyes drifted closed. "You do."

He was already half hard when she curled her fingers around him. She stroked her hand down the length, then back again, watching his face. There was something arousing about having this sort of power over a man. To know that simply your touch drove him mad. He opened his eyes to watch her again, his breath picking up.

Using her other hand, she tugged his pants and boxers down farther, freeing him. She moved to kiss his mouth tenderly, then shifted down to take him in her mouth. The sound he made was much more a low growl, but it was urgent and desperate and very gratifying. She was not in the habit of doing this particular act with lovers. Men had a tendency to start expecting it, usually without putting their own time in. But she loved Steve and she loved how eager and willing he was to please her. They had all night, and with his recovery time she had no fears she would miss out on any pleasure.

She knew he carried the world on his shoulders sometimes. Getting him to give in, to let go, to relax, was something in and of itself. Even when they made love he spent his energy paying attention to her. But she could tell by the sounds he made and way his hands tugged urgently on her hair that she had his undivided attention.

She shifted, holding his hips in her hands, and moved on him a little harder, angling to take him deeper. She knew by now what kind of rhythm he seemed to like best, and she tried to mimic it with her mouth. His fingers tangled and tugged in her hair, but she refused to relent. He deserved to let go, to be pampered and adored. But someone who knew who he was, inside and out, and loved him for it.

"Please," he gasped, lifting up to her. "I can't—I can't—"

_Yes, darling, that's rather the point._ She didn't bother to voice the though, just patted his hip encouragingly and kept on with what she was doing. It took bare moments for him to lose control entirely, hips lifting roughly. Peggy held on, easing him through it before lifting her head and smiling proudly.

His chest heaved, and looked down at her. "My God."

Trying not to look to smug, she climbed back up and settled against his side, head in his chest. His heart thundered under her ear. He nuzzled her hair. "I didn't think I could love you more, but I think I was wrong."

She laughed a little and kissed his chest, tasting salt in his skin. "I felt you deserved something just for you."

"This hotel was a brilliant idea," he murmured. They laid there tangled up for a while, until he began tracing slow, intricate patterns on her skin, the light touch very arousing. She felt her nipples pebble and harden and closed her eyes to better focus on the sensation. As it grew more intense she couldn't help the little whimper that spilled from her. He cupped her thigh, tugging it higher over him. "Come here. I want to watch you."

She let him move her straddling his hips. For a moment she looked down at him, as amazed he was with her as he was. Then she shifted up and guided him into her body. Her lids fluttered at the intensity of the sensation. She hadn't expected it to feel so different without the condom.

His fingers dug into her skin. "This is. . ." He took a breath. "Better." The way he ground that out made her think it was the understatement of the century.

"Do you need a moment?" she asked quietly. She was fairly certain his fingers were going to leave bruises. Then his grip lessened, and he shook his head. She smiled and resettled her knees, then began to move, slowly up and down, adjusting to the new sensations. His eyes drifted closed for a moment, and then he opened then again. He did say he wanted to watch. He could very easily touch her, which he also took advantage of.

She moaned, lids fluttering shut as she rocked. His fingers found her unerringly, in just the pattern and pressure that suited her best. God bless his quick learning. Pleasure built quickly, the friction sending jolts through her. She felt hit and dizzy and oh, so close. "Steve. I-"

He sat up, wrapping one arm around her to help her keep her rhythm. The angle changed, and then he bent his head and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth. With a cry, she buried her hand in his hair and ground her hips into him. The orgasm shuddered through her and she gave herself over to it, lost to her pleasure. 

It wasn't much more than a moment later she could feel him tense and surge up, and his release flooded her. He mumbled her name into her shoulder and his arms tightened. She rocked against him, riding out the last of her climax before slumping against him, utterly spent. He tipped backwards again, letting her sprawl on his chest. He always had absolutely perfect timing. She wondered if that was a skill, or just a sign that they were perfectly matched.

"Well," he finally muttered. "No wonder the army has to put so much effort into trying to convince the men to use the rubbers."

She laughed. "We'd forget to fight the war if it was always like this."

He brought a hand up, and rubbed a spot on her shoulder with his thumb. "I bruised you."

"Mmm. You were quite distracted."

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. "You're just that good."

"I think the effort is mutual."

He stroked her back. "As soon as I become able to move, we should order up some room service."

"That is a wonderful idea." Longing for a slightly more comfortable bed, she slipped off his chest and curled at his side. "This is a marvelous bed."

"I concur." He turned a little towards her, sliding his hand up her thigh like he couldn't stop touching her. "We are a little messy. Wasn't there some conversation about a bathtub?"

She groaned, even as her body heated at the touch. "There was. It looked big enough for two. Even if one of those two is you."

"I have faith in us," he told her.

They did, however, mange to get water _all_ over the floor. He sacrificed half their towels to the effort of containing it before giving up. Then they phoned down for room service—to be left at the door due their being in bathrobes—and curled up on the suite's couch to eat whatever meal it was now. She insisted on finishing desert before they made love on said couch.

Afterward, he carried her to the bed because she honestly didn't think she could walk. "I may need a nap before we indulge any further."

"If ever there was a good place to nap, it's this bed." The blankets were warm and cozy, the bed wonderfully soft. Even the pillows felt magic. He pulled her closer. "I want to fall asleep like this every night," he said.

Peggy sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, arm wrapped over his chest. "That sounds heavenly."

"The war can't last forever."

"I certainly hope not."


	10. If You Were the Only Girl in the World

One of the secretaries lent Amanda a rather snug red dress for her date with Bucky. She felt a bit exposed, especially without stockings on, but she couldn't deny she looked very nice. The same woman helped style her hair with a curling iron and a great deal of patience. A pair of black t-strap shoes finished the outfit and she went out to meet Bucky in front of the women's barrack.

He was waiting for her in his dress uniform, hat cocked to one side. She saw plenty of them lately, but he seemed particularly good at filling it out. He gave her a look the swept her from her face to her feet and then back up. The heat in his gaze caused a little shiver to go down her spine.

"You look quite dashing," she said as she reached him. Jones had managed to translate a few words she'd been stuck on. She hadn't told him they were ones she thought about Bucky.

He grinned widely, which only enhanced the impression. "You look like a movie star."

She smoothed her hands down her dress. "Thank you. The ladies here are very kind. And generous."

He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

He was warm and solid, even through the uniform jacket, when she tucked her hand into his elbow. "Lead the way."

There was a cab waiting out at the front of the base. He helped her in and gave the driver an address she didn't recognize. She had never been on a proper date before and felt vaguely nervous about doing or saying the wrong thing. She reminded herself that this was Bucky and that he seemed to honestly like her. Perhaps it would be all right to just go with her gut.

She slid her hand across the seat and curled it around his.

The cab took them to the nicest restaurant she'd ever been in. The menu did not seem to notice the war, though she expected the prices did. They weren't included on her menu. It was _that_ sort of place. He told her a little sternly that she should order anything she wished.

Frugality warred with manners and the desire for real food and lost rather shamefully. She ordered the fish and soup in as close to an American accent as she could mange. He held her hand across the table until the food came, and it was delicious. For a first date, it was pretty good.

After a dessert of toffee pudding they walked to a dance hall a few blocks over. it was far different from the dances she'd attended as a girl, louder and more boisterous. But he was a good dancer and an excellent teacher, even with the missing arm.

People were looking at them, the scarred woman and the man without an arm. Or maybe they were seeing a war hero who finally came home to his girl. Whatever they were seeing, she found tonight she really didn't care.

They played something slow and melancholy towards the end of the night. Bucky held her close with his arm around her waist, cheek pressed against her hair. For those few minutes they were surely the only people in the club, if not the whole of London. She closed her eyes and memorized everything. His scent, the warm, solid wall of his chest, and the feel of his hand on the small of her back, fingers tracing patterns and sending chills through her.

The air was chilly and damp when they went back outside and he tucked his jacket around her shoulders before flagging down a cab.

They were in the cab on the way home when he asked, "Do you really think the arm will work?"

She looked over at him. "I would not offer you false hope. It will not be perfect, as I said. But if Howard does what he says he can then it will be very close."

"Even if it doesn't. . ." he shook his head. "Tonight made me feel better. About how I am."

"I'm glad." She reached over to squeeze his hand. "It had been a very long time since I felt. . . normal."

"Me too, honestly. Slow music, pretty girl. . . it was a nice night."

Her face felt warm. "I'm glad you think I'm pretty."

He let go of her hand so he could touch her face. "I have always thought you were pretty. Made me mad that I did when I thought you were Hydra."

She laughed a little. "I hope that didn't last very long."

"No. You put a great deal of disgust into the word 'them' and then I knew."

"Ah. Good." She leaned her cheek into his touch. "I thought you were quite handsome. Which was a strange thing to think, considering the circumstances."

His eyes searched her face, and then he whispered, "Come here."

Ignoring the pang of nerves that suddenly struck her, she slid across the seat, snug to his side. He slid his fingers into her hair, and tipped her face up to kiss her.

The kiss had the base had been hard and intense and had surprised her as much as anything else. This one was far different. It started much softer, but equally intense. She flattened a palm on his chest, leaning into him. He pulled her close, taking his time to explore her mouth. The man certainly did know how to kiss.

When he finally lifted his head she felt hot and achey, oddly restless. She leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad I met you," he said. "Despite the circumstances."

"So am I. You are the only good thing to happen to me in a very long time."

He dipped his head to kiss her again. "I trust you to take care of my arm."

"I will do everything I can to make you happy. Make you feel better."

He grinned. "This is pretty good, too." She laughed a little and tipped her face up for another kiss.  
 They kissed until the cab reached the base. Bucky handed over some cash and walked her to the door of the woman's barrack. "So was this a successful date?" she asked.

"I don't know—if I asked you out again, would you say yes?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then it was a success." He bent to give her a quick kiss. "Sweet dreams, Doc."

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Sergeant."

She didn't miss him whistling as he strolled away.

Howard finished his prototypes a dew days later. Bucky tested them as best he could, made some requests and suggestions and Howard went back to his lab for production. A week later Amanda had Bucky on her operating table again, this time with Howard hovering at her shoulder offering critique.

"The medial anchor looks off a bit."

"It will shift slightly when I suture," she said, trying to be patient.

"Are you sure? I think-"

"Howard, has Bucky ever told you the _other_ things I do with a scalpel?" He was mostly quiet for the rest of the operation. They fastened the arm on quickly to make sure it was properly aligned and she finished up in peace.

It was the first time she'd ever worked on someone she cared for. The first time she'd operated on his arm she had felt some sort of responsibility to him, for what she had helped do to him. Now. . . well, now she wasn't sure she had words for what she felt for him.

She was sitting in the chair beside his bed when he woke up. She didn't need to keep a vigil. . . but she did it anyway.

"Talk about deja vu," was the first thing he said.

It made her smile, as she imagined he'd intended. "Welcome back."

He smiled back at her. "Did you get prettier or do we just have better drugs?"

"My vanity insists I say both."

"I'm happy with that." He looked down and frowned. "Where's the arm?"

"Howard will bring it by later for you to try. I wanted to let your incisions heal before attaching it. You'll need to work up to wearing it full time."

"How long?"

She hated to be the bad guy when he was so excited. "Your incisions should be healed in two or three days. Once they are we'll try it for about six hours. If you tolerate that, then we'll add an hour or two every day. In a week you should be wearing it all day. Assuming no complications, but I don't expect any."

He nodded, that seemed to satisfy him. "I have faith in you."

"I will go as fast as I feel safe," she promised him.

He dozed a bit more. At supper time Howard brought the arm over, and they carefully attached all the anchor points. 

"Right," she said as Howard stepped back. "Now, if all has gone well you should be able to flex your arm and make your fingers move."

He stared at it. "How?"

"You have to consciously think about moving your fingers. Just like your hand was there. It'll become second nature, but it may take a little concentration at first."

Nodding, he lifted his right arm, and carefully moved his fingers. Then he repeated the motion with the left. "Holy shit."

Amanda grinned, clapping her hands together. Behind her, Howard gave a shout of triumph and slapped her on the back. Some of the nurses had come to look and have their own cheers.

She reached out and took the metal hand in hers. "Can you curl your fingers around mine?"

"I don't know that I can control the grip," he said hesitantly. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It's all right. Try to go slowly. It will be a good test," she added when he still hesitated. It took him a moment, but slowly he wrapped his fingers around her hand, one at a time. She beamed. "Perfect. That's exactly the right pressure." She touched the top of the arm, where it met his flesh. "How does this feel? Is there pain?"

"It's a little sore," he admitted. "Nothing I can't handle."

She wondered if the fact he admitted it was a little sore meant it was excruciatingly painful. She didn't press in front of Howard. "We'll find some exercises for you to try, to adjust to the new way of moving. Though I think you'll get the hang of it very quickly."

He was still holding her hand. "Thank you. Both of you."

"Anytime, pal," Howard said. "Maybe I'll make more of these. Get a reputation for something other than weapons."

Something in his tone made her turn and look at him. "With the war ending there will be more call for these than the other."

He was looking at her and Bucky's joined hands. He nodded a little, then asked, "Can you get it off him yourself?” At her nod he gave a jaunty salute and strolled off.

Amanda sat on the edge of the bed. "Perhaps I do not give him enough credit."

"He was muttering the other day about the serum's healing abilities. I figured you'd been whispering in his ear."

She grinned. "Well, if I can be a good influence on him perhaps I'll spend more time in his lab." His fingers twitched lightly in her hand. "I admit, this works better than even I'd dreamed. Especially this quickly. Once you are wearing it full time you may not notice any handicap at all."

"How much weight can it bear?"

"We're not entirely sure," she said honestly. "More than the other one, certainly. In theory it can lift several hundred pounds, but remember it is attached to your upper arm muscles. So it can lift as much as you can."

"I could brace myself on it?"

Not entirely sure why he was concerned about that she nodded. "Certainly."

He cleared his throat. "It's helpful for shooting. Lay on the ground, fire with one hand, support your body on the other arm." Though, there was something funny about the way he said that, like he had originally been thinking about something else.

She was no expert in shooting or sniping, but she attempted to reassure him. "Ah, well, you may find it works even better. The arm cannot lock up or grow tired or lose feeling. You would be able to support yourself much longer and steadier. You could shoot all night, if necessary."

He made the strangest face. "That. . . is good to know."

"Do you want to try to move it more or shall I take it off? I don't want you to overdo it."

"I kind of don't want to take it off, but I probably should."

"I promise you will have plenty of time with it soon." She carefully detached the connection points, pleased to see none of his sutures had opened. "You'll have it on full time before you know it. And be tired of me putting you through exercises."

"I refuse to be tired of anything that involves you."

She laughed. "You are charming, Sergeant."

He grinned widely, and adorably. "Thanks, Doc."

With a quick glance around to make sure she didn't have any audience, then leaned forward and kissed him softly. "I'm glad it worked out so well. I admit I was nervous."

"I had faith," he told her.

"Thank you." She cleared her throat and leaned back. "I'm afraid I have reports I have been neglecting. I will try to come back before bedtime. In any case, you'll be free to go back to the barracks in the morning."

"I'll be disappointed if you don't come back," he told her. "I might have to pretend to be dying again."

She laughed, getting to her feet. "Careful, _liebling_. People will stop believing it."

"I'll risk it."

"I will do my best to see you later, then," she promised.

The next two weeks were spent working with him and the arm. He healed and adapted as quickly as she thought her would, mastering every exercise and challenge she and Stark could cook up for him. He was perhaps not quite as dexterous with the left hand as he was the right - he would certainly not be taking up knitting any time soon - but it was no more of a gap then the average right handed person might expect.  
 She was there on the training yard when he used his sniper rifle to hit a perfect bullseye on five targets. Colonel Phillips was there, to determine if he was combat capable. He watched through a pair of binoculars. When Bucky had hit the last board, so far out on the field she had trouble spotting it, Phillips lowered the binoculars with a whistle and said, "Well, I'll be damned." Then he chucked Bucky in the shoulder and added, "Welcome to active duty."

The grin on Bucky's face made all of their hard work worth it.


	11. Over There

It was the first mission briefing that had felt normal to Steve since Bucky had fallen off the train. Though it was frustrating that every time they thought they'd found the last of Hydra, another group popped up, like cockroaches.

This most recent one was in Rumania, near the soviet border. Warmer than Estonia, but heavily wooded. They didn't have much intel, or ariel views. Steve was grateful Bucky would be there to have his back. Metal arm and all.

Peggy stayed back in London. When the mission parameters involved mostly kicking in doors and blowing things up, she was more useful back at base helping them find the next target. 

"I'm really torn about whether I'd rather have her with us, or back where it's safe," he told Bucky while they waited for their jump from the plane.

He tipped his head back in thought. "While I concede there is nothing sexier than a woman you like kicking ass, I have to go with safe. Worry is distracting."

"'Like' hasn't been the right word for quite a while now."

"I didn't want to presume." Steve suspected his friend was also thinking of an entirely different woman, but didn't want to admit it. 

"There's very little you could possibly presume at this point that wouldn't be true."

Bucky studied him a moment. "Have you talked about what happens after the war?"

"Not logistically. But certainly the expectation and understanding is there."

"I'm happy for you," Bucky said. "She's good for you."

That made him smile. "Do you think about life after the war much?"

He shifted his arm a little. "More than I used to. I'll be able to work with this. Build things, like Pop. I'd given up on that for a while."

"You were starting to worry me there."

Bucky glanced out the window. "Yeah. Guess I was a little down. I didn't see another side of it. Without the arm." He looked back to Steve. "Thank you for talking to Howard."

"Your girl was a bit of an instigator there. I didn't even know it was possible."

"Apparently, the squids has ideas for me. She saw some plans, got the idea in her head." He smiled softly, affectionately. "She could move mountains if she put her mind to it."

"So, she is your girl?"

"I- yeah. Yeah, she is." He grinned. "We had a very nice date a couple weeks ago."

"Did you take her dancing?"

"I did. She'd never been to a club before, you believe it?"

"Maybe they do things different in Austria."

"She said they had balls. Like big house parties. She picked it up pretty well." He paused. "It made me feel normal. Being able to do it with only the one arm. Even if this hadn't worked." He gestured to the metal arm. "I would have been all right."

"That is very good to hear." He might even send Dr. Neuberg flowers. 

"Still prefer having a second hand. Even a metal one."

"Stark will probably keep tinkering with it for the rest of your life. Someday it will have rockets."

He inspected the arm again. "God, I hope so."

"We're over the coordinates," Dugan called. "We jumping or are you two still having your coffee klatch?" 

Steve rolled his eyes. "You sure you missed this?" he asked Bucky.

He grinned widely, stepping up to the door as Dugan hauled it open. "Every minute," he called over the wind, before making his jump.

Steve shook his head as he stepped up to the doorway. "All is right with the world again," Dugan yelled, and Steve laughed as he jumped himself.

The first evening was spent getting recon and trying not to tip their hand. The boys were not necessarily known for their stealth (here he was thinking of Dugan and Denier, especially) but they managed not to get spotted and by the time they gathered at their main campsite they had a good idea of what they'd be dealing with in the morning. The plan was to attack right before dawn, when the base was likely to be asleep. Which left them a few hours to kill.

Morita got a fire started and Falsworth unpacked the grub and soon they were sprawled in a rough circle, for all the world a bunch of buddies out camping. They found themselves somehow short on matches, so Dugan nearly burned his mustache off trying to light a cigarette off the fire. 

"At least it's not your eyebrows," Bucky said. "Not that Dernier's not missing his eyebrows half the time."

Dernier replied in French, and Jones translated, "At least it's for a good cause."

"Rogers pulled it off," Dugan said. "For like a while, there. Why did your skin heal so fast but your hair took forever?"

"Hell if I know," he said. "But I don't think I'd like it if my hair grew really fast. I'd be like Rapunzel."

There was a moment of silence, then Morita asked, "Am I the only one who can see how that would be tactically useful?"

"Cut it of periodically," Jones said. "Make rope."

Bucky waved a hand. "Nah, the fan girls would chase after him trying to get a lock of it."

"We could sell it," Dugan said. "Like talismans. Medieval indulgences. Rabbits feet, etc. Captain America's hair, yours for only twenty-five cents."

"I hate all of you," Steve muttered.

"No, man, I think we're onto something here."

"Could we get someone to attribute a miracle to him?" Falswoth pondered.

"We could sneak into Berlin and take a picture of him actually punching the real Hitler," Jones suggested.

Steve felt compelled to reply, "Okay, that's something I would actually do."

"If we get into Berlin I'm shooting the old bastard before you get close enough to hit him." Bucky mimed peering through his scope and racking a rifle.

"Oh, here we go again," Jones muttered. "The 'who gets to kill Hitler' debate." Last time they'd settled on Dernier, as the only one whose country had actually been conquered. Though that had been before the liberation of Paris.

"It's only fair," Bucky was saying. "You got a girl and six inches outta the war. Least I can get is the most famous headshot in the world."

"It was ten inches, thank you very much." He grinned. "And you're not exactly suffering in the girl department."

"Technically, I am still closing that deal."

"Granted. But have you ever suffered in the girl department?"

"There was that one in Italy that turned out to be a man," Dugan piped up.   
"You would think dying would mean I'd be exempt from embarrassing stories."

"Nah, we told that story at your funeral. And any others anyone could think of."

He looked at Steve in mock horror. "There was a funeral?"

"Yeah," Steve replied. "We drank all of Dugan's bourbon. He's still sore about it."

"That was really good stuff!" the man in question protested from the other side of the fire. "I complained about it when we found you. But you were busy with your girl."

"Only Barnes would find a date while being held prisoner by the Nazis," Falsworth said.

"That's right, I am just that good. Irresistible even while bleeding."

"Hey, the tale of the GI falling in love with his nurse is so common it's practically a joke."

"I've never gotten any pretty nurses when I've needed to go in," Morita complained. "Though I did once meet a hooker dressed like a nurse."

"You've met a hooker dressed like everything," Dugan muttered, lighting a new smoke off the old one.

"Also, mine's a doctor." The rest of them groaned and blew raspberries at Bucky and he held up his hands. "She'd punch me if I didn't correct you."

"I have never met a hooker dressed like a doctor," Morita said. "So there."

"Apparently you both share a taste in women who can kick your ass," Jones commented. Dernier rattled something off in French - the only thing Steve caught was _maman_ \- and Jones added, "Maybe it stems from your childhoods."

Bucky rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "My mom did wield a mean wooden spoon."

"My mother was gentle and quiet," Steve said. "But Mrs. Barnes was kind of scary."

"Well, I guess we've explained me, but not you."

"Scrawny as I was. . . _all_ women seemed like they could kick my ass." Steve shrugged. "And besides, she's softer than you might think. In private, anyway."

"Oh, _really_?" Mortia said. "Do tell."

Dugan smacked him in the arm. "Watch it. We don't talk about Peggy in that tone of voice."

"Technically, she told me he had her permission to talk," Bucky said. "While you were missing," he added to Steve.

"Still," Dugan said. "It's Peggy. She's not, you know, a dame."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Steve asked, not sure if he should be offended or not.

"She's one of us," Jones said. "I don't want to hear about her naked anymore than I'd want to hear about Stark."

"She's practically an honorary Commando," Dugan confirmed. "She needs a nick name."

"Peggy is a nickname," Steve said. "Technically. Her given name is Margaret."

"That doesn't count. By that yardstick we've all got nick names before we started."

"I am terrified to ask how you acquired Dum Dum."

"I'm pretty sure it's obvious why he's Dum Dum," Morita said dryly.

"If _you_ grew up with the name Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader Dugan you'd welcome any nickname you got, too."

There was a moment of silence, and then Falsworth asked, "What was wrong with Tim?"

"There were three other Tims in my unit."

"I think I'm going to call you Aloysius now," Jones said. "I like it."

"It's a good old-fashioned name," Falsworth added. "I had an uncle Aloysius."

Dugan just shook his head and went back to his smoke. Steve chuckled, and listened to the boys start retelling their epic stories again. He glanced over at Bucky. "Still happy you didn't take that discharge."

"I wouldn't trade it for all the pizza in Brooklyn. And neither would you."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I do look forward to the day we'll get to eat that pizza though. Get houses. Take our kids to Dodgers games."

He didn't miss Bucky flexing the fingers on his left hand. "Teaching them to bat."

"Fitting that thing with a glove will be interesting," he replied. "Though maybe you should learn to throw with it. Bet it would put out one hell of a fastball."

"You know, I _had_ thought of that. Maybe I'll get that shot at the minors I always wanted."

"They'd probably consider that cheating." They were quiet a moment, and Steve said, "I want to ask her to marry me."

Bucky looked over at him, but he didn't look particularly surprised. "Margaret Rogers has a nice ring to it."

She'd probably keep her maiden name in the middle, like a society lady with a fancy lineage. "You think she'll say yes, right?"

"Based on how she looks at you? Yeah, I think you're safe."

"Well. _That_ part is going just fine. That's not the same as getting married."

"What're you worried about then?"

He found his fears surprisingly hard to articulate. "I don't know. She'd one of those women who doesn't really need a husband. Maybe she doesn't want one."

Bucky was quiet a moment, staring into the fire. "I think she wouldn't want the wrong husband. Someone who expected her to stay home and make babies and dinner for him every night. But   
you're not that guy."

"But I am famous." He sighed. "She'd be Mrs. Captain America." She'd probably like that even less than he liked being Captain America. 

"That is what they'll call her." Another pause. "Maybe she can make it work for her. Get people to change how they treat women. Maybe other women like her will stop resigning themselves to babies and dinner and say, 'Hell if Mrs Captain America can work so can I.'" Bucky shrugged. "Or it'll drive you both nuts and you'll go be hermits somewhere. Doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

"Didn't say I wasn't going to. Just that I'm nervous."

"I think every guy is nervous when it comes to proposing."

"Even Captain America," he muttered.

"Well, I don't think punching her is going to help much, so. . ."

Steve laughed, and punched Bucky's arm instead.


	12. Blue Orchids

The only thing that was more satisfying than coming back from a successful mission was knowing there was somebody waiting for you. And this mission had been particularly good, since he'd thought for a while there he'd never go on one again. The arm had performed perfectly. It ached a little, but Amanda had promised him that would fade as his skin built calluses.

There was the usual crowd of people who came out to meet them in the yard. Peggy was there and promptly ran to Steve. He swung her around in a circle like something out of the movies, to the hoots and whistles of the others. They two of them certainly made a cute couple.

The greeting Bucky had been hoping for wasn't there, however. He knew she didn't like crowds, but he'd hope she'd at least make an appearance, possibly with the excuse of wanting to see how the arm had performed. He wasn't entirely sure what to do, so he stood there in the courtyard entirely too long. Should he go look for her? Just go back to the barracks and wait to run into her in the mess?

He was probably over thinking this. She was usually in her lab. Maybe she'd gotten distracted. Or no one had bothered to tell her they were coming in. He would go poke his head in and say hello.

It occurred to him, as he made his way to the science wing, that he'd never second guessed himself this way before. Either he really was turning into Steve, or he was in real deep.

Amanda was perched at her lab table, as usual, engrossed in her papers, as usual. Her hair was up in a very unlike her haphazard bun, long tendrils trailing down her neck. He stepped inside, careful not to make a sound, content just to watch her a moment. 

Right up until she lifted her hands and tugged the pins out of her hair and let the whole mess of it fall. The only time he'd seen her with it down was on their date. She'd looked like Veronica Lake, stepped right off the screen.

He made an appreciative noise he couldn't contain. She looked up in surprise, and he suddenly felt embarrassed he'd been staring. "Hey."

She gave him that brilliant smile that always stopped his breath. "Bucky. I thought I heard a commotion in the yard."

"Yeah. I thought I'd come tell you the arm worked great."

"Oh, good." She slipped off her chair and stepped closer to him, reaching out to touch the arm. "No pain?"

"Just a little, but I think it's just breaking in. Like shoes." God, she even smelled good.

"That's probably an apt description." She moved his arm around very gently, inspecting it. Then she looked up at him and he saw the exact moment she realized how very close they were. He expected her to blush and clear her throat and step away. But, while she did lower her hands from his arm, she didn't move away.

He bent his head a little closer. "I thought you'd come meet us," he said softly.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes darted back and forth as if she was studying his face. "I didn't. . . I thought it might be too forward."

"I spent the whole way back thinking about seeing you."

She blushing now. "I thought of you, as well. I worried for you. I know that you're a good fighter and the others watch out for you. But. . . I worried."

He lifted his hand and sunk it into her hair. "Someone got me an arm that's stronger than the one I lost."

Her breath stuttered and she leaned into his hand. "I like that. To think I help protect you in some way."

It was probably wrong to kiss her here, but he pulled her closer anyway. "Having someone to come back to helps, too."

He felt her arms slide around him, obviously no longer concerned about propriety. "I-" She opened and closed her mouth, seemingly unable to find the words. Eventually, she gave up and tipped her head, pressing a kiss to his mouth. He sighed, and tugged her hair a little, and took the kiss deeper. It wasn't chaste or gentle. He wanted her so much.

The tug caused her to make a desperate little noise in her throat. It did nothing for his self restraint. He backed her up a little and she threw out a hand, knocking the door shut beside them. In almost the same movement he turned her and pressed her against the wood. She gasped and he pressed the advantage, stroking his tongue along hers. He felt her shudder in response. He ran his hand down her back, over her side, mapping her curves. He should stop, he knew, but all he could think about was feeling her skin.

Her skirt was long, very demure, like most of her wardrobe. He tugged it up her leg, half expecting her to push him away. Instead, she lifted her leg and he could slide his hand under the hem, cupping her thigh, skin warm and soft against his palm. He groaned, very hesitantly sliding the metal arm around her waist to press her body against him. He wished he could feel something with it.

With her leg up against his hip, the core of her was pressed against his thigh. He stroked her leg with his thumb and she rocked against him, making another of those desperate noises. Her hands had been fisted in the back of his shirt. Now he felt her tug the fabric hard and slide beneath to flatten on his skin.

He gasped, and made himself lift his head. "Amanda," he whispered.

She blinked at him, eyes dark and dazed. Her fingers stroked his skin lightly, tracing his spine. "Yes," she said. It didn't sound like a response to her name. It sounded like. . . encouragement. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't. . ." he tried, even though he wasn't, and he really wanted to.

"Yes," she said again, firmer. Then she released him and started unbuttoning her blouse. It occurred to him she might be having trouble finding the right words in English. The sudden appearance of her brassiere was fraying his language capabilities as well.

He was utterly mesmerized by her. It took him a minute before he could move. He wanted to help, but he could barely handle his own buttons, let alone her tiny lady buttons. He did realize the door had a lock, and reached out to flip it.

Her blouse fluttered to the floor and she started helping him with his shirt. He stripped it off and lifted his arms so she could pull his undershirt up and off. The jerky urgency of her motions was oddly gratifying. At least he wasn't the only one who felt desperate.

He reached around behind her, finding the clasp at her back. There was something Rubicon-crossing about removing underwear. "Can I take this off?"

She nodded. "Yes. Please." She had flattened her palms on his chest, tracing little lines. He knew for a fact she'd seen him shirtless several times, possibly even fully naked. But she was looking at him now with utter fascination. As if she'd never seen the like. Women in the scattered brothels he'd been to never looked at him like that. He was just another GI.

Steve had a thing about how sex should mean something. Bucky had always thought that was a little too boy scout for him. But this would. Did. Probably for the first time in his life. And suddenly he understood the difference it made. 

He unhooked her brassiere and slid it down her arms. Then he turned her face up and kissed her again, more tenderness than lust. He felt her sigh, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. Her breasts pressed into his chest, nipples hard. She murmured his name into his mouth, hands stroking his back. He tangled his hand in her hair, tugging lightly, making her moan.

He lifted her up, inordinately pleased that the arm let him do that, even if it hurt a little. Her skirt bunched up to her hips so she could wrap her legs around him, and he carried her over to her lab table. He tipped her back a little so he could kiss her breasts. She stroked her fingers through his hair, back arching to press her closer into him. He took his time, drawing quiet little noises from her. Her nails scraped his scalp and her feet hooked behind his thighs tugging him close.

"Wait," he finally gasped. "I should get—" He stopped, realizing he wasn't sure he even had any condoms. He'd given his last packet to Steve. Without even thinking about it, actually. Because he hadn't expected them to do this, but he'd already been hers.

She shook her head as if trying to clear it, then released him. "No. No. I have. For me." She turned away, rummaging through the clutter on the lap table before making a noise of triumph, coming back with a little box. She looked back at him, suddenly shy. "I need to put it in."

"In—oh. Right." He'd had a girlfriend back home who'd had one. She'd been a Zigfield Folly, rather free with her affections and a lot of fun. "Do you need help?"

Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. "I- yes. I've never. . . before."

He grinned and took the little box from her. "You got it just for me." That shouldn't please him as much as it did.

"Yes," she said softly. "I had hope."

The swell of affection took his breath away. Whatever was happening between them, it wasn't like anything he'd ever felt before. "I was going to ask you if you were sure, but this is excellent evidence that would be a dumb question."

She laughed a little and leaned forward to kiss him with the same tenderness he had used earlier. He heard the soft sound of a zipper being lowered and when she leaned back she lifted herself up with her hands, enough to untangle her skirt and let it slide down her legs. He caught a glimpse of pale white drawers with intricate embroidery before she tugged at those as well. Then she was naked, on the table, all for him. He braced his hands on the table beside her hips, just to look at her. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

His words made he blush, the color spreading down her chest, halfway to her nipples, dark and swollen from his mouth. She had gained weight since they'd escaped. In the Alps she'd felt bony and fragile under her itchy clothes. Now she was soft, curved, all pale skin and long limbed.

Her breath quickened at his gaze and she said, "James," in a soft, urgent voice.

He grinned. Nobody had called him by his given name in a long time. But he kind of liked it. He parted her legs a little more, and touched her there. The sound she made pleased him. She was hot and wet, but he stroked and explored her folds, so she'd relax any further. He nudged her leg a little, lifting it so she could brace her heel on the table.

When she was spread wide he fished the diaphragm out of its box. Pinching the little bit of latex between his fingers he slid them slowly inside her. The noise she made was guttural and urgent and shot right through him to his cock. She gripped his shoulder hard, as if afraid to fall.

"Almost," he whispered, trying to fiddle the damn thing in place. 

Finally, it felt properly seated, at least from what he remembered. He ignored the little voice in the back of his head that told him it wouldn't be a big deal if he slipped up. Now was not the time to think about babies. 

When he was sure it was in place he slid his fingers out of her slowly, earning him another deep, sexy groan. She was watching him, and he looked up to grin at her. The kiss that followed was hot and deep, and he stroked her gently, finding the right spot with his thumb.

She had to break the kiss fairly quickly to gasp for air. He didn't remember the last girl he'd been with who was this responsive. As if even the simplest touch drove her higher. It made him want to puff up. Be the best lover she'd ever had, the one who made her forget all the rest.

It gave him the courage to lift his left hand, the metal one, and use the thumb to stroke her nipple. She gasped, back arching, as both nipples peaked eagerly. He was inordinately pleased by the reaction. It was probably cold, but she seemed to like it. He'd been nervous about doing this one-handed, but maybe he didn't have to.

Her hips started to rock and her felt her breathing change, growing short and quick. He continued his stroking, one thumb on her clit and the other on her nipple. Without warning she threw her head back with a wordless cry and started to shake.

He felt proud of that, and held her close as she rode it out, making quiet little whimpering noises. She said something to him in German that he didn't understand at all, but it sounded very complimentary.

Then he felt her hands at his belt, tugging it open, then his fly. Her nimble fingers curled into the waistband of his sacks and boxers and pushed them down so that his now painfully hard erection was free.

He risked a glance at her face and found the fascinated look was back. She traced the length of him with light fingers and he groaned, cock twitching. She made a little noise of surprise, grinning. He leaned back a little, searching for some level of composure. "Amanda? Have you done this before?"

She glanced up at his face, fingers curling away from him. "No," she said hesitantly.

"Ah, honey," he said softly. "I'm sorry we're doing it on a table."

Breaking into a grin, she said, "I'm not." She gave the table a little pat. "I like my table. My little cave. Now when I work here I will think you you and smile."

"Next time I'm finding us a bed," he told her, pulling her to the very edge of the table.

She spread her legs wide so he could step between them. She settled her hands on his shoulders and he saw a faint flicker of nerves cross her features. He arched his hips, pressing himself against her, so she could get used to the feel of him, the idea of it. The head of his cock slid easily through her folds, notching at the entrance of her sex. Her cheeks flushed and she caught her lower lip in her teeth. But she squeezed his shoulders lightly and gave him a nod. He slid in as slowly as he could, not wanting to hurt her—though he didn't know if it was better to be quick, like ripping off a bandaid. He'd never been with a virgin before. But she was so dizzyingly tight, slow was all he could do anyway.

Her nails dug into him and he paused, rocking out a little, before pressing forward again. She nodded and mumbled something he didn't understand. So he gritted his teeth and repeated the slow rocking, and her body let him in a little deeper each time. It was a sweet torment, but eventually he was sunk into her all the way to the hilt, hips snug against her.

Amanda leaned back a little to look down at where he was buried inside her. He could feel gentle little muscle spasms twitching around him. She was so tight and hot and slick. Then she uncurled her fingers and leaned back more, bracing her hands on the table behind her, sending papers scattering to the floor. 

She swallowed hard and whispered, "Please." He moved slowly again at first, and then faster as she began lifting up a little to meet him. _Nothing_ had ever felt this good. He gripped her hips, pulling her into his thrusts so he could get deeper, push harder. She seemed to enjoy it, gasping and moaning. There was more German, she seemed to have completely lost her English.

His control was starting to fray when he felt the first flutters start deep inside. She reached out and grabbed at his arm, lifting up off the table. Then she was coming around him, body shaking and spasming as she whimpered helplessly. He thrust hard enough the table rattled, letting go and taking what he needed. When he finally broke he pushed as deep into her as he could get, feeling her still pulsing around him.

She fell back on the table and he went with her, bending forward awkwardly, head pillowed on her breast. She stroked his hair and down his back, murmuring her appreciation in broken English. He turned his head to kiss her skin. He was impressed she could find words at all. The best he could manage was an incoherent satisfied noise. That made her chuckle a little and she sighed deeply, leaning her head back on the table and closing her eyes. "Bed would be nice," she conceded. 

Eventually he started to get a crick in his back, so he straightened. He looked around for some sort of cloth or towel before he pulled out of her, expecting it to be messy. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought, but she did bleed a little bit. Though he forgot about that when he noticed the bruises, two on her right thigh and one on her hip, red and angry and blooming purple. A quick look revealed 12 similar circles on the back of her thigh and her rear, which looked particularly bad.

He'd done that with the metal arm.

Apparently oblivious, she stretched and propped up on her elbows. "That was even better than I had hoped." She saw his face and tilted her head. "What's wrong?"

With his real hand he reached to touch them, and then stopped. "I hurt you."

Following his gaze she made a soft sound. Twisting a little, she inspected all of the marks she could see, then looked back to him. "It's all right," she said softly.

"It's not. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. . ." He fastened his pants as quickly as he could.

"No. Bucky - James, please." She caught his hands. "Please. I'm not upset. Bruises happen, don't they?" She brushed a hand on his shoulder. "I left marks on you."

"You've left all kinds of marks on me," he said quietly.

Her face softened and she pressed her palm to his jaw, drawing him close for a sweet, tender kiss. "As have you. It will take time, to learn how hard to hold me. I would have told you if it hurt me."

"You seemed pretty distracted," he felt compelled to point out.

She actually blushed, which was cute. "You made me feel only good."

He tipped her face up. "No regrets?"

"None," she assured him. "I'm rather looking forward to the promised bed. Peggy tells me good things about hotels."

"Ours probably won't be as nice. I don't have Stark's money."

"I am not fussy," she said. He saw her hesitate, then added, "There is something you should know. The serum you received may have had certain. . . effects in this area. In regards to your. . . stamina."

"I had, uh, noticed that," he said, feeling his cheeks heat. "I didn't know the cause."

Her brows went up and he could see her wanting to ask. "It is an unexpected side effect," she said. "I will not interrogate you about it. Though I hope to take full advantage of it."

He kissed her. "Not tonight. You might be sore."

"Yes. I should take something and perhaps take the rest of the day. . ." She glanced down at herself. "And get dressed. Would you mind helping me?"

"I'm not very good with buttons."

She inclined her head and slid carefully off the table. "Perhaps just hand me the _bustenhalter_? And my blouse."

German words amused him. "Bust holder?"

"It describes what it is, does it not?" She plucked her drawers off the floor and stepped into them. They were the plain white army issue, but she had embroidered vines of purple flowers along the edges.

"Did you do that?" he asked.

She ran her fingers over the flowers. "Yes. My mother taught me when I was little. I always liked it." She smiled at him. "It's why I'm such a good surgeon."

"Even in war, you insert beauty into the oddest places."

He could see how much that pleased her. She stepped closer and kissed him, arms around his neck. "When can we be together again?"

"The very moment I can find us some privacy."

She nodded and took the brassiere from him, sliding it up her arms. "I look forward to it."

He watched her turn to fasten in. "Amanda."

Pausing in trying to tame her hair, she looked at him. "Yes, James?"

He looked down at his arm, then back up at her. "It was worth it."

There was a moment she she seemed to process what he'd said. Then another when he was afraid she might cry. Finally, she leaned forward to rest her forehead on his. "Yes, it was." She smiled sadly. "Though I wish my parents could have known you."

He tucked her hair behind her ear. "Would they have liked me?"

"I think so. Hope so. They would have liked that you make me happy."

With a smile, he turned her face up. "Do I?"

"Very much." She smoothed a hand down his chest. "You make me smile and laugh, even in the darkest of times."

"I have been told I have that skill."

"It's good," she told him. "Especially here."

"I will keep doing so." He kissed her. "As long as you'll let me."


	13. Our Love Affair

The last days of war were strange. For the general population, there would be a specific day surrender happened and victory was declared. For those watching on the inside, particularly with the kind of view the SSR had, it felt like a torturously slow slide to a victory that was clearly obvious, but coming at a snail's pace.

But Peggy knew very clearly the day the war shifted from something dangerous to something almost comical. It was one of the admittedly few war stories she'd happily tell her grandchildren.

They were in eastern Germany, looking for a buried weapons cache that Zola had directed them to. Though everyone was still currently allies, the US and British governments both were feeling very urgent about getting all the Hydra tech cleaned up before it fell into Soviet hands. The writing was on the wall.

Intel was much spottier now due to the general chaos of Germany's collapse, and they got surprised by an encampment of what looked like an entire battalion of German troops. But before a single shot could be fired, one of them got a look at Steve, and then shouting about Captain America rolled back through the troops. Men began dropping their guns and holding up undershirts and towels and whatever white items they could find.

"They're surrendering," Jones said helpfully.

"Yes, I see that," Peggy replied, not entirely sure what else there was _to_ say.

"Do they not realize there are only six of us?" Dugan asked, sounding about as dumbfounded as the rest of them. "And that Rogers isn't actually magic?"

"Lots of people think I'm magic," Steve replied.

"I'll go talk to them," Jones said, walking towards the group, where a man that looked to be a commander was emerging. 

"Maybe we should just parade Rogers around Europe," Morita suggested. "And let people fall at his feet."

"Oh, shut up."

"Maybe this is a trap," Falsworth said.

Jones was back in a minute. "It's not a trap. They don't think Rogers is magic. They don't want to surrender to the Soviets, but will happily surrender to Americans. That's why they're so excited, they didn't know the western allies were this far east."

"Well, they're actually not." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "How are we going to get, what, 500 people back to the Western front?"

"Hey, I do languages, not logistics."

Peggy felt like suddenly all of them were looking at her.

She sighed, the straightened her shoulders, surveying the troops with a critical eye. "Right. Morita, radio back to base, see if they can find some troops and vehicles to meet us. Jones, take Falsworth and Dugan and collect all their weapons, then break them into groups of oh. . . fifty will do, find out if they have any wounded or ill that need immediate care."

"Bucky and I will run the perimeter," Steve said. "Make sure the Soviets aren't _actually_ imminent."

"Good idea." She tossed him a smile. "Try not to accept any more surrenders."

"Maybe I should start wearing regular army-issue to these things."

"No," she said at the same moment Bucky protested, "You promised to keep the outfit!"

Steve rolled his eyes and pulled Bucky away by the arm.

So that was how Peggy's very last mission before Germany's surrender involved slogging on foot, and then by truck, halfway across Germany with 612 POWs in tow.

The paperwork alone had to have qualified as a war crime. She was still there, filling out serial numbers and incident reports when he door was thrown open and a secretary whose name she couldn’t place told her the news before running off to tell the next person.

Feeling oddly dazed, Peggy stood and went to the hall to find people celebrating, radios blaring the surrender announcement from various offices. Grinning, she went to find Steve.

There was an impromptu party going on in the main briefing room, and he was in the corner having some sort of conversation with Howard that may or may not have been an argument.

Well any argument they had could be had in front of her. So she strode over to wrap her arms around him. They both stopped talking, and Howard looked guilty, making her wonder briefly if they had been talking _about_ her. But then Steve turned and kissed her, and she decided she didn't care.

She indulged in their deep and very public kiss for several moments, before he lifted his head and she grinned at him. "We won."

He grinned back at her. "So I heard."

Of course, it didn't mean they would be getting on a plane home tomorrow. But it was something. A relief that felt like a weight lifting. She tucked herself into the heat of his body. "What were you and Howard discussing so animatedly?"

"A celebratory hotel suite," he replied.

She laughed. "Were you turning him down? We used the last one quite well."

"No, no. I already had it, it was supposed to be a surprise. He was trying to take it back on account of it being Victory Day. Apparently women are particularly easy on special occasions."

Oh, Howard. "Well, with the surrender we may be packing up soon. That storage room holds fond memories."

"Well. I do kind of owe him for another favor he did for me, so we worked out a compromise. It does not involve the storage room."

"How mysterious." She wrapped her arms around one of his. "Is it a surprise?"

"Of course it is. Wear something nice."

"Don't I always?"

"Yes. But you should wear something extra nice. We're going dancing."

She smiled brilliantly. "I have a particular red dress I seem to recall you liking."

"Eight o'clock?"

"Don't you dare be late."

He grinned and kissed her again. "I wouldn't dream of it."

At eight on the dot she was in front of her barracks, dressed in red, hair perfectly done. The bathrooms had been full of women prepping for dates or dancing. Peggy had determinedly not asked around to see who Howard's entertainment for the evening was.

Steve was waiting for her in his dress uniform, looking as dashing as she'd ever seen him. "You look amazing," he said somewhat reverently.

She smiled and did a twirl. "Thank you. So do you."

The club he took her to was packed, but the general mood was jubilant. He abused his fame a little to get through the bar line and get her a drink. He did seem a little. . . she supposed nervous was the right word. He couldn't possibly that bad a dancer.

The gin and tonic he'd gotten her was delicious and they managed to find a small table near the dance floor to sit at. The floor was packed, the band in full swing with no signs of stopping. The room felt full of life and Peggy smiled, letting it wash over her. It had been a long time since she'd been in a room with so much joy.

"I've been waiting for a slow song," he said. "In an attempt to spare your toes."

She laughed a little. "I appreciate you're concern. Slow ones are easier to learn, anyway." And required being held close to his chest, which was a favorite activity of hers.

"The crowd doesn't seem like much of a slow-song mood, though. So we may be stuck."

"I imagine they may slow down later, to encourage romance. But if you can't wait I'm certain my toes can handle it."

"I suppose your bones are made out of steel, aren't they?"

She tossed her hair. "At the very least," she confirmed in mock seriousness.

He took a deep breath and held out his hand. "Would you like to dance?"

"Steve, I would love to." She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet and out on the floor.

Peggy showed him the steps, and he was a quick learner just like with everything else. As he twirled her around in the crowd, she thought about that night sitting by the radio, not sure if she'd ever see him again. The idea had made the future look very bleak and colorless. She would have soldiered on, as she had always done, but it would have been very hard.

She shouldn't be thinking about such things. It was a good day. There were celebrating. And now, they were finally getting that dance.

A slow song finally came on, and he tucked her against his chest. "It can't really be over, can it?" he murmured.

"Well, there are still things to be done. Japan has not surrendered and Hydra is still there." She tipped her head up to look at him. "But I think that the worst of it is over."

He bent his head to kiss her lightly. "You want to get out of here?"

"Absolutely," she whispered.

It took them a while to get a cab, as it seemed like all of London was out on the streets tonight. Peggy tucked herself against his side, feeling like she was just a regular girl on date. For a little bit the war itself faded away, and it was just her and her man, necking in the back of a taxi.

The hotel they pulled up in front of wasn't nearly as nice as the one Howard used, but they were at least able to go into the front door together. Steve had gotten two rooms. She was about to tell him that was wasteful, when the clerk recognized him and began to gush about Captain America being in their hotel. At least when she told the gossip rags about it tomorrow, it might note the lack of a shared room. Not that they actually intended to be apart.

They made their way upstairs and made a brief show of going into their own rooms with their luggage before checking the hallway and Peggy ducked into his room. "Such espionage."

He kissed her, and backed her up against the door. "Just looking after your reputation."

She sunk her fingers in his hair. "I do appreciate it. Think of the headlines. 'Captain America Shares Room With Woman he's Known Literally Years.'"

"You underestimate American prudery," he replied, tugging the hem of her dress up. His hand spread on her thigh. "You're wearing stockings," he murmured.

"It's a very special occasion," she told him.

He ran his fingers along the top edge of her garters. "I want you to keep them on," he said, his voice almost a growl.

Heat coursed through her. "As you wish."

It was fast and hot and explosive. They had all the time in the world, but it had been that sort of day. She did keep her stockings on, as requested. Which was how she ended up lounging on the bed afterwards wearing nothing but, hair undone and falling all over, while he sat on the foot of the bed and sketched her.

"You will guard this particular sketchbook with your life, will you not?"

"I will. And I'm a pretty hard man to rob," he added with a smile. He smudged something a bit with his thumb, and then turned it around so she could see it.

It was a remarkable likeness. She looked sultry, beautiful. Feminine but powerful. You could have hung it in a gallery - a risqué gallery, perhaps. She sat up to inspect it closer. "It's lovely. You really do have a gift."

"It's one of the few things I was good at before," he said. "This, as much as anything, is the real me."

"Do you ever do self portraits? One I could have?"

"I did a few a long time ago. Not since. . ." He gestured at his chest. "But I can make one for you."

She crawled forward to kiss him. "I would like that very much."

"You know. . . I still feel sometimes like I don't know the right things to say. I've been trying to figure this out for weeks. I kept thinking today it would just come to me, and then Germany went and surrendered and. . ." he rubbed his forehead. "I'm never going to be good at this."

"Darling, I got into this knowing you were bad at talking to women. I don't need sonnets." She touched his cheek, stroking her fingertips down his jaw. "Just be honest with me."

"Well, I. . ." He paused. "Wait. Don't move." He climbed off the bed and went over to rifle through the pockets of his jacket. He came back a moment later, sat on the bed and opened his palm. In it sat a slender gold ring with a small sapphire. "It belonged to my mother. I'm still not sure I deserve you, but I do love you. Would you. . . would you marry me?"

Peggy felt her mouth open and close a few times but couldn't manage to get any sound to come out. Finally, she just closed it, smiled, and nodded, throwing herself at him to wrap her arms around his neck. He held her and kissed her shoulder. "So, yes?"

"Yes," she said, voice breaking a little. "Yes, of course."

"I just realized I wasn't ever going to want anyone else," he said. "And then everything made sense."

She leaned back and kissed him. "See. That was perfect."

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Don't cry."

"Happy tears." She kissed him. "Don't tell me what to do."

He smiled, and reached down to lift her left hand and put the ring on. "Stark helped me arrange to get it here from New York. He was offended by its size and kept insisting I should go buy a big diamond."

"No. I love it. It's beautiful."

"You don't strike me as someone who wants flashy things." He lifted her hand and kissed her palm, right over the ring.

She stroked his cheek and tucked herself into his lap. "I think you're the only flashy thing I truly want. And that's only for show."

"I worried about that," he said. "I am conspicuous. I will make you conspicuous."

"I can handle conspicuous. At least when we're married we can share a bloody hotel room without comment."

That made him chuckle, and his arms tightened. "Do you want a big fancy to-do or. . .?"

"No. No. I've no family to invite and it will only draw the attention of the press. Let's just do something small on base. Then it will be done and we'll be together. Come hell or high water."

He sighed in contentment, and the sound seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. "I love you so very much."

"I love you, too," she said. "I look forward to being Agent Rogers."


	14. Over The Rainbow

Captain Rogers and Agent Carter were married in the chapel on base on a bright May morning. Amanda had stayed up half the night before, embroidering roses on the simple pink frock Peggy was wearing for the occasion. She still felt vaguely bleary eyed and was on her third thermos full of tea, but the sewing looked quite nice, if she did say so herself.

Bucky stood up at Steve's side, looking dashing as ever in his dress uniform. The guests were limited to the other Commandos, Colonel Phillips and a handful of secretaries and SSR agents that Peggy obviously considered friends. They had kept the event very hush-hush in the hopes of not drawing attention of reporters.

"I offered to throw them a big party," Howard muttered from his seat beside her. He sounded a tad put out. "Cake, band, big white dress. You know you _can_ still get silk if you pay enough for it and know the right people."

"This is what they wanted," she whispered back. "When you get married I'm sure you'll have a lovely white dress."

He scoffed. "God. One woman forever? I have yet to like the same one for a whole week."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "It's a wonder you haven't depleted my entire supply of antibiotics."

"I am free with my affections, not reckless with them."

"Someday, Howard, someone will tame you. I only hope I'm there to shake her hand when she does."

"You keep holding your breath there, Doc."

The chaplain had asked for the rings, which was Bucky's big moment, so she shushed Howard in an effort to focus. He handed them in his left hand, which wasn't something he had to do, but it seemed to matter to him. It certainly made Steve smile.

The vows were short and simple. Steve stuttered a bit, which made Peggy grin and hold his hand tighter. Then the chaplain pronounced them man and wife and Steve promptly dipped her in a kiss. Everyone clapped. Beside her, Howard whistled. She raised an eyebrow and he shrugged. "People exist on a bell curve. If I exist so do plenty of men who only want one woman all their lives. I don't judge."

"I think that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard from you. And what if a woman wanted to flit about like you do? What would you think of her?"

"I'd think I'd like her number."

Amanda laughed and took his offered arm as they followed the wedding party out of the chapel. "You're not so bad, sometimes."

"Careful, Doc. People might think you're going soft."

"It's a wedding. I'm allowed a brief reprieve."

They had spilled into the small courtyard. Howard clapped his hands and said, "If I can have everyone's attention, please."

She stepped away from him so he could have his spotlight alone. As she did, she felt an arm wrap around her waist from behind and sighed, leaning into Bucky. He kissed the top of her head.

"If you'll follow me down to the labs, we've set up a small reception," Howard was saying.

"Stark," Steve chided. "We said no party."

"Like I was going to listen to that. It's just a little cake and music to dance to."

"And bourbon," Dugan added.

"Yes. And bourbon."

Steve was shaking his head, but he was smiling. Peggy wrapped her arms around one of his and said, "Why thank you, Howard. That was very thoughtful. Lead the way."

Amanda had not been down to the lower labs where Stark worked since Bucky's arm had been attached. All of the tables had been shoved to the sides and covered with white linens. There was a small buffet of food - including fruits and cheeses. In one corner a band was tuning up.

"I suppose for Howard this is quite small," Amanda murmured to Bucky as they looked around in surprise.

"Would you care to dance, Doc?"

She looked up at him. "I would love to, Sergeant." The band started up and he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her hand as he spun her around the empty space. There weren't a lot of couples, but Steve and Peggy danced. Howard danced with one of the nurses. Eventually the other men and women paired up, and for a moment it was almost normal.

The food was delicious, of course. Amanda gorged herself on soft, creamy cheeses spread on crunchy bread and sweet berries that dripped juice down her chin. Eventually, she ended up in a corner, on Bucky's lap, as he carefully cut them slices of an apple with his pocket knife. The fruit had been more popular than the cake.

Steve and Peggy were alone on the dance floor. The crowd had thinned out a bit, only the core people there, spread out across the rooms. Amanda leaned her head on Bucky's shoulder. "It was a lovely wedding."

He fed her a bit of apple. "It was a nice break from worrying about what the hell they're doing with us now."

That had been the talk of the hour ever since Germany had surrendered. Some were going home. Others would likely be sent to the Pacific, to fight the Japanese. Still others had no idea what their futures held. "What would you choose?" she asked him. "If you could."

"Honestly?" He sighed. "I don't know. I've tried not to think about it. I go where Steve goes, where the Commandos go."

"They will almost certainly stay here. Chasing Hydra to the ends of the earth."

"Steve might want to go home."

That was true. She glanced at the newlyweds. "Peggy will be packing up and going to New York. To work with the SSR." They had had a long talk about it a few nights ago, in between wedding planning.

"Steve told me. He's being very him about it, but I can tell he doesn't want her to go."

He fed her another slice of apple. "I suppose I have gotten used to not knowing what my future holds." She sighed. "Sometimes I'm still quite certain I will wake up back in the awful cage."

"I promised I'd show you New York," he said. "I still mean that."

She turned to smile at him. "After listening to you and Steve speak of it I'm looking forward to it even more."

"I have been wondering if it's going to be a problem actually getting you there. This in London is all temporary, but US immigration will want you to have some sort of paperwork." He cleared his throat. "So. . ."

This sounded like a serious conversation. She had an inkling of what he might be about to suggest, but didn't want to presume. She turned to look at him more fully. "So?"

"Well. They seem to be pretty free with letting guys bring brides home. Even if they're German."

And that was what she'd been pretty sure he'd been leading up to. "I'm flattered," she said. And she was. She didn't imagine he'd ever thought he'd be contemplating bringing home a war bride. "But the SSR has offered me a job. Complete with work visa. Colonel Phillips thinks I might even be a candidate for political asylum, given that I was a POW." She caught his hand and wove her fingers between the metal fingers. "So if you were about to launch into an awkward proposal of some sort, you can now reassess."

She actually saw his cheeks turn a little pink, and he looked down. "Ah. Well. That's good."

Hesitantly, she added, "If the time ever comes that you want to have that conversation without the word citizenship being used, I would likely be receptive."

That made him smile, and he looked up. "I think I just might."

"Good." She bent closer and kissed him. "Do you think there's privacy to be found tonight?"

"I will make it happen. The Best Man should get laid after the wedding."

"Especially when you have a sure thing in your lap."

He pulled her closer for a kiss. "I would not want anyone else."

"Nor would I." She paused a moment, then took a deep breath and added, "I know this is likely too fast, considering the circumstances. But. . . I love you."

He inhaled sharply enough to make her nervous, but then he said, " _Ich liebe dich_." 

She was a little embarrassed at the tears in her eyes. But she cupped his face in her hands and rested her forehead on his. "Thanks you, _Liebling_. I never thought I would hear that again."

"I asked Jones. I hope you don't mind. I wanted to know how to tell you at times when you've lost your English. I didn't tell Jones that part."

Laughing a little, she shook her head. "I don't mind at all. I have asked him for words many times."

"We're not exactly being subtle right now, anyway."

"No, I think everyone is quite aware." Her smile turned sly. "With that in mind, shall we sneak away?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

*

New York City wanted to throw him a ticker tape parade.

Steve didn't quite know what to make of it, but Bucky thought it was a fabulous idea, so he agreed, on the condition he could bring the rest of his team—because he could have done nothing without them. Stark offered to fly them back in one of his airplanes, but Steve thought a little break would do he and Peggy some good, so they decided to sail instead. The others all agreed, and not to be denied his opportunity to show off, Stark booked them all on a luxury ocean liner. Steve thought they'd all been converted to troop transports, but who knew. Maybe Stark owned it. 

The lower decks were still full of troops, and Steve felt faintly guilty about their stateroom. Peggy said it was their honeymoon.

One evening, after dinner, they all ended up at the railing outside Stark's stateroom, which was of course the nicest on the ship, drinking and watching the water.

"I have to give you credit, Rogers," he said. "This is relaxing."

Peggy leaned around him. "Be still my heart, Howard, are you admitting you were wrong about something?"

He gestured grandly with his scotch glass. "I am conceding there are alternative points of view."

"I can't believe they're throwing us a parade," Jones said.

"Technically they're throwing him a parade," Dugan said, gesturing at Steve with his cigar and managing to get ash on himself in the process. "Shit."

"History books like to simplify things," Morita said. "We'll probably be forgotten. In a hundred years, it'll just be Captain America. And, knowing our luck, Stark," he added. "Stark zapped the ground with a ray gun and out sprang Captain America, fully dressed and on his motorcycle. Then the three of them—Cap, Stark, and the motorcycle—conducted the entire war all by themselves."

There was a pause, then Stark said, "I like it," to groans from the others.

"I fully intend to be in there," Bucky protested. "Every hero needs a sidekick. I even have a cool distinguishing feature," he added, lifting his metal arm.

"Ah, perhaps I will get a footnote." Amanda was tucked up against Bucky's side and appeared to be sharing his drink. "The German turncoat who saved Captain America's friend's life."

"And, of course, his loyal girlfriend," Peggy said. "Who will have done nothing but write letters and knit socks."

"And pine," Amanda said. "I imagine you pined for him quite a bit."

"I actually did really do that," she admitted. "A little bit." That made Steve smile, and he reached out to rub her back. He still hadn't entirely gotten used to the idea that she was really his.

She'd insisted the chaplain take the word "obey" out of their wedding vows.

"Pining makes for excellent story telling," Stark said. "There'll be making movies and radio programs out of the two of you."

"Who should play Peggy?" Dugan asked.

"Barbara Stanwyck" Amanda piped up to a chorus of agreement.

"She's on the list of people who I think would punch me if they got the chance," Stark said.

"How long is that list, Howard?" Peggy asked dryly. "If you typed it all out? One volume? Two?"

"I try not to dwell," he said with a hand wave. "I want to be played by Errol Flynn."

"Of course you do."

"If we get to choose," Bucky said, "I'm going with Cary Grant."

"I'll be played by whichever white actor is best at squinting," Morita said. 

"But who would be Steve?" Dugan asked. "That's the real question."

"Clark Gable," Jones offered.

Howard waved him off. "Nah. Gary Cooper."

"Peggy should choose." Amanda's quiet suggestion silenced the rest of them.

She studied Steve with mock intensity. "Mmm. Randolph Scott."

The boys laughed. "I never woulda picked you for a western fan, Peg," Stark said.

"American movies do make it over the pond. Depictions of your Old West are rather exotic to us Brits."

"Sounds like a blockbuster of a movie we're putting together here." Bucky took a sip of his drink. "Stark, you should find someone to pitch it to when we get back."

He chuckled. "I'll make some calls."

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, watching the sun paint the water different colors. Finally, Howard stuck his glass out in a toast. "To going home."

Peggy leaned a little closer to him, and Steve kissed the top of her head. "To going home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! There is a sequel that will cover returning from war and the events of the Agent Carter tv show. It will begin posting Wednesday.


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